


GioGio's Bizarre Adventure Part 1: Vento Aureo Retold

by ilventoaureo



Series: GioGio's Bizarre Romance (ft. Trish Una) [1]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruno Buccellati is Spelled Bruno Bucciarati, But it all ends the same, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, It's on the tip of my tongue, Mista ships it, Mutual Pining, So slow that it takes two fics for them to realize they like each other, What's the other tag, that's the word, the slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27418519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilventoaureo/pseuds/ilventoaureo
Summary: Giorno Giovanna infiltrates Passione with one goal in mind; usurp the Boss.  However, his plans get a hitch in them when he meets Trish Una, the Boss' own daughter.  Watch as Giorno attempts to take over Passione, and balance his masked feelings for the pinkette in his group.  A prequel fic to my first fic.  Not every single arc will be covered, mainly just summarized.
Relationships: Giorno Giovanna & Guido Mista, Giorno Giovanna/Trish Una
Series: GioGio's Bizarre Romance (ft. Trish Una) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003233
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	1. Just a Thought

Academics never truly excited Giorno. The fifteen-year-old would rather be out in the world, enjoying his surroundings and occasionally pick-pocketing the unsuspecting tourist. Instead, he was cramped in his dorm, studying for exams. Giorno let out a sigh, twirling his pen between his fingers. He craned his neck and stared longingly out of his window. Never before had the sun been so alluring to the boy. Giorno mentally smacked himself, knowing full well what he’d have to return to if he were to fail his courses. He shuddered, thinking to his drunkard step-father and uninvolved mother. Just thinking about the two of them drove Giorno up the wall. He sighed once more, finally returning to his work. 

“Alright, let’s see…” Giorno muttered, looking at the questions laid out before him. “What is the name of the phenomenon where the second hand on a clock stops moving?”

Giorno leaned back in his chair for a moment, deep in thought, before scribbling down ‘Chronostasis’ on the sheet. 

“Simple enough.” the teen said to himself. 

It wasn’t that school was a challenge for Giorno, far from it. He made top of his class every semester, and passed all of his exams with flying colors. It was just that the education provided to Giorno proved to be a _bit_ boring for him. Oh well, it didn’t matter all that much to him. If the world is dull, then what’s just one more dull person joining their ranks. Giorno pushed those thoughts aside, moving onto the next question.

“With the advent of the color TV, something else started to appear in color. What was it that started to appear in color?” Once more, Giorno sat engrossed in his thoughts. That’s when the word came to him.

_‘Dreams.’_

Giorno blinked for a moment, before closing his eyes, as he began to do some dreaming of his own. Giorno saw the streets of Napoli, infested with the mafia and drugs. The famiglia instilled fear in the hearts of the Italian citizens, controlling most of the business fronts in the country. Giorno saw himself as the savior, the liberator of the people. He saw himself ascend to the top of a throne, perched on high above all of Napoli. Giorno took his rightful seat as a benevolent ruler of the people of the country. For the first time in a long while, Giorno genuinely smiled. He was broken out of his day dreaming by a familiar tapping. Not any sort of knocking on his door or anything, but tapping on his desk from his own soul’s manifestation. Giorno opened his eyes and glared at the breaker of his dreams. “Can you hear me out for just a minute?” Giorno questioned. His stand, Gold Experience, said nothing. Not like it could say anything to begin with.

Giorno stood up from his chair. “You’ve seen how the entire country has fallen from grace. Everyone is either a victim of the mafia or a sitting duck, waiting to be their next target. No one is safe anymore.” Giorno stated. Gold Experience, with little enthusiasm, crossed it’s arms, and gestured for Giorno to continue. Giorno nodded and quickly continued. “But, if we can ascend to power in the famiglia, we can return Italy to a safer state.” He said, looking back at his stand for any non-verbal feedback. Gold Experience simply stared back, and shrugged, basically giving him the go-ahead to do whatever the hell he wanted, before returning to it’s user. Giorno smirked. 

“Now, to make a plan.” He muttered, sitting back down in his chair. Giorno opened up his notebook and tore out a piece of paper, beginning to formulate a plan. “I already work on the side as a ‘taxi driver’ near the airport, and I know that there is a mafioso who oversees that area.” Giorno sighed, scribbling down ‘Leaky-Eyed Luca’ on the page. “If I can be taken under Luca’s wings, I’ll have an in. Then I’ll work my way up from there.” Giorno smiled to himself. “I, Giorno Giovanna, have a dream. To restore virtue to Italy.” He muttered to himself. Giorno had one thought on his mind, he would be the one to return Italy to its former glory. He looked at his calendar, reading the date as March 27th. “I’ll see if I can get in contact with Luca on Thursday. That’ll be my opening.” Giorno muttered, getting up from his seat, taking his pen, and circling the 29th on his calendar. Giorno had one thought on his mind. 

_‘I will succeed in infiltrating the mafia, and I will take over, no matter what.’_

* * *

_‘Well, this was unexpected.’_ Giorno thought to himself.

He had hoped his plans would go off without a hitch, but there were _many_ problems that worked their way into his plan. First was the encounter with Luca, which… ended poorly. Seeing the unconscious body of the mafioso, Giorno quickly fled the scene to have some lunch. Then, the Japanese guy he stole from at the airport, Koichi, had managed to track him down while he was having lunch, where he made his daring escape. When he got on the tram, Giorno had thought he was safe. Then, he encountered Bruno Bucciarati, the man who licked his face and unzipped his body, devolving into a full-blown chase by Giorno. Yet, by the end of their first encounter, Giorno and Bucciarati seemed to trust each other, somewhat. Then came Polpo’s test, which costed the life of a janitor at Giorno’s school. And once again, Koichi managed to find Giorno. This time, however, the two acted as unconventional allies, and managed to defeat Polpo’s stand, Black Sabbath. The next day, Giorno returned to Polpo’s cell, tossing him the lighter, and turning one of his revolvers into a banana. Giorno exited the prison, where Bucciarati was waiting, smiling slightly when he saw Giorno’s Passione badge. The two made their way to meet the rest of Bucciarati’s team. Giorno, sensing that Polpo had already grabbed the banana, released Gold Experience’s ability on the gun, killing Polpo as vengeance for the man he had killed.

The two men reached the restaurant with relative ease. Bucciarati was greeted at the door by one of the servers. “Ah, Signore Bucciarati, welcome back.” The server politely said. 

Bucciarati smiled, as he and Giorno entered the restaraunt. “Thank you, I assume my team hasn’t been causing any probl-”

“YOU STUPID DELINQUENT! ARE YOU MESSING WITH ME?!” A voice shouted from the other room. Giorno, Bucciarati, and the server snapped their heads in the direction of the voice. “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TEACH YOU THIS BEFORE YOU LEARN?! **YOU SHIT-FOR-BRAINS!** ” A loud crash could be heard. “YOU JUST SAID SIX TIMES FIVE WAS THIRTY, **SO WHY THE HELL IS YOUR ANSWER EVEN LESS?!** ”

Bucciarati’s face deadpanned to Giorno. “I’ll assume that’s your team?” Giorno questioned.

Bucciarati sighed. “Yes. We should make sure Fugo hasn’t killed anyone yet.” He groaned.

Giorno and Bucciarati made their way to the screams from the other end of the restaurant. Bucciarati was the first one to round the corner, already yelling at his team. “Enough, you fools! Get it together!” All conversations ceased. “We could hear your bickering from the front of the building. You’re bothering the other customers.” Giorno rounded the corner and took a look at the scene before him. In front of him were four people, two of which seemed to be in the middle of a fight, one of which, a short boy with short black hair, was holding a knife to the other’s throat, a boy with blonde hair and a green suit, while the other two, a white-haired goth and a red capped teen, a pistol easily visible in his pants, sat with amusement. Bucciarati spoke up yet again. “I brought along the new associate we talked about. Pay attention, don’t dishonor us.” His voice carried a sense of command and authority to it. 

Bucciarati looked back at Giorno and gestured for him to introduce himself. “I’m Giorno Giovanna, it’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Giorno said, trying his best to be polite. The rest of the gang just glared at Giorno for a few moments, all of them seemingly peering into his soul. Then, in a moment, all tension that was there seemed to disappear. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, Fugo.” The smaller boy, his blade now gone, bashfully apologized.

“I’m sorry too, will you forgive me?” The other boy, Fugo, apologized as well.

Giorno and Bucciarati stood, both of them in bewilderment of the situation before them. However, Bucciarati’s confusion soon turned to anger, his face contorting into a scowl.

“Of course, and I promise to study harder if you’ll please keep teaching me.” The smaller boy replied.

“Listen Everyone!” Bucciarati barked, garnering the attention of his team again. “I went out of my way to bring him here, show him some respect!”

At that moment, one of the servers called Bucciarati over for a phone call. Bucciarati nodded, commanding his team to introduce themselves to Giorno. Most everyone at the table turned their attention from Giorno to the white-haired man, who had a tea-kettle in-between his legs. Giorno noticed this, although no one seemed to notice his drawn attention to the tea-kettle. Fear ran down the boy’s spine. _‘Oh God.’_ Giorno thought to himself. _‘They’re going to make me drink that man’s piss.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back. Didja miss me? It's nearly been nine months since I've last posted anything, I wonder how the world is-
> 
> Oh  
> Yikes
> 
> Anyways, it's now been a little over a year since I started GioGio Part 2, and now we've got a new one. I hope everyone enjoys the fic. Reviews are always welcome. Like the previous fic, new chapters will be posted every Friday, but expect some eventual delays.


	2. The Bossy Pinkette

Being completely deflated was not something Giorno never thought he would ever experience, but it was an enlightening experience to be sure. Enlightening in what aspect? Even Giorno couldn’t answer that. Their mission was simple enough; to retrieve Polpo’s fortune from Capri. They had expected an attack on the team. What they didn’t expect was for the attacker to already be on the boat. Once Bucciarati defeated their foe, and after a well-choreographed dance number, Abbacchio, the white-haired goth, used his stand to figure out that there was someone waiting for the team on Capri already. Giorno offered to go and make sure that the team was safe once they landed on the island. While most of the team seemed opposed to this idea, the team’s gunslinger decided to team up with Giorno and join him on his mission to protect the team. 

Once Giorno and the gunslinger, Guido Mista, reached Capri, they took point, trying to find the flattening dude’s partner. When they found him, Mista was the first to take point and attack the man. After a grueling fight atop a truck driven by a driver scared out of his mind, Mista returned with Sale, the partner of the dude on the boat, unconscious. The truck driver, complaining about being pushed around, was forced by Giorno to drive the truck up the road. It was only when Mista called to Giorno that he had already caught the perp that Giorno left the truck and re-joined his teammate. Giorno noticed Mista’s injury and offered to heal him, to which Mista declined.

Along the coastline, Giorno and Mista sat with the unconscious Sale, waiting for their team to arrive, while Giorno talked into a radio. 

“Bucciarati, we’ve got Zucchero’s partner. He’s passed out for the time being.” Giorno spoke into the microphone.

On the other end, he could hear Bucciarati’s chuckle. “Good to hear. We’re roughly five minutes away from you. You and Mista keep busy for the moment.” Bucciarati’s voice rang through.

“Understood.” Giorno replied, shutting off the radio.

“Welp, we’ve got five minutes to kill. Anything on your mind?” Mista asked.

Giorno cocked an eyebrow and glared at Mista. “Who are you, my therapist? We’ve only known each other for maybe three hours.” He joked.

Mista chuckled. “Excuse you, I’d like to think that I would make a great therapist.” He replied.

Giorno rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath and sighed. “Can’t say anything in particular is on my mind at the moment, aside from the location of the money.” He stated.

Mista gave a gleeful grin. “Yeah, that thought’s occupying a space in my head as well. Well, that, and all the hot chicks over here.” He said through his smile, glancing over his shoulder to the shops on the waterfront.

Giorno shook his head and sighed. “That’s all, huh?” He asked.

Mista craned his head back to Giorno, grinning. “Come on Gio, ain’t you ever fantasized about a girl before?” He queried.

“Can’t say that I have.” Giorno muttered, thankful that only Mista and the unconscious Sale were present.

Mista cocked an eyebrow. “You ever fantasized about a guy?” He joked.

Giorno gave Mista another glare. “I don’t swing that way. I’m sorry if you were coming onto me.” Giorno replied.

Mista let out a hearty laugh. “HA. Nah man, just making sure. No judgment on my end.” He said.

“Although…” Mista continued. “…if you _had_ to, what’d you say would be your type?”

Giorno groaned. “Why did I see this coming?” He muttered.

“Hey, if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to.” Mista reassured.

Giorno sat back in thought for a moment, before returning his attention to Mista. “Someone whose smart and strong enough to defend herself.” He said at last.

“So, you’re saying that she’d be the dom of the relationship?” Mista questioned.

“Don’t say it like that.” Giorno said, earning a chuckle out of Mista. “I don’t want one side of the relationship to be overpowering over the other. I want to be with someone whose an equal. I want to depend on her as much as she does on me.”

Mista chuckled. “Damn, wasn’t expecting a serious answer from you.” He said.

Giorno smirked. “Guess it’s just how I am.” He replied.

The honk of a horn caught the attention of Giorno and Mista, seeing the boat finally pulling into the port. Narancia waved to the two of them as Fugo and Abbacchio stood idly. Mista smirked. “Guess that’s our cue to dump this ass clown on the boat.” He remarked, as both he and Giorno picked the body up and brought Sale over to the boat. 

With the two foes safely within the ship, Bucciarati’s team made their way to their rendezvous point given to them by one of the capos of Passione. Getting to the point, which was a restroom overlooking the sea, the team took point, scanning around for their contact. During this time, Fugo and Narancia took Mista into the bathroom to stitch up his injuries. Although Giorno could have stepped in at any time, he decided against it. Bucciarati, Abbacchio and Giorno all entered the restroom as Bucciarati congratulated all of them for their commendable efforts in getting to Capri. Abbacchio questioned where Bucciarati hid the treasure, but Bucciarati stated that it was not the time to divulge such information. The rest of the team was surprised to say the lease. 

However, at that moment, Narancia heard sweeping from the outside, calling for the entire team to stay quiet. He exited the bathroom saw two janitors and told them to wait to clean up until after they left. The janitor, whose pink hair fluttered out from underneath his cap, told Narancia off, walking towards the men’s bathroom. Giorno watched as Narancia pulled out a switchblade, holding it to the back of the pink haired janitor’s neck. Giorno hoped to whoever was listening that Narancia would stop attacking this innocent public worker. His hopes were soon answered as Pink Hair dropped his broom and turned the blade on Narancia, the blade cutting into his cheek. Narancia, in retaliation, pulled out a second switchblade from wherever the hell he kept a second switchblade, nearly stabbing Pink Hair right through his jaw. Bruno shouted for Narancia to stop, his blade mere inches away from Pink Hair’s face. Bucciarati quickly explained that they were in the presence of the Passione capo that had called them there.

The gang quickly got their shit together and bowed respectively to the short, gray haired capo, Nunzio Pericolo, who had been waiting for them to receive Bucciarati’s promised money. Pericolo told them to be at ease, and to stop their bowing. He turned to Giorno, recognizing him as the new guy on Bucciarati’s team. Giorno confirmed this, watching Pericolo extend his kindness out to the blonde teen. Giorno thanked him, sparing a short glance to the pink haired janitor, who seemed more interested by his surroundings than what was unfolding.

_‘Is this guy a part of Passione, or just some poor schmuck who got roped into this?’_ Giorno thought to himself.

Pericolo turned his attention to Narancia, telling him that Pink Hair didn’t like it when she’s touched. That sparked something in Giorno’s brain.

_‘So, he’s not a guy. But even still, why’s a girl doing business with the mafia?’_ Giorno thought again. His thoughts were once more distracted as he watched Fugo sucker punch Narancia for failing to show proper respect to Pericolo.

Bucciarati brought the conversation back on track, bringing up Pericolo’s disguise. Pericolo dismissed Bucciarati’s worry and questioned him about where the money was, which Bucciarati reassured was actually there, pointing to the restroom, much to the confusion of the rest of his team. Bucciarati smirked, making his way into the restroom, summoning Sticky Fingers, and punching one of the urinals open, to reveal jewels and gold piled high in the urinal. Pericolo inspected the jewels and confirmed their authenticity. He packed up quickly, much to the dismay of Mista and Narancia, chuckling at their reactions.

Once outside the restroom, Pericolo bestowed the rank of capo onto Bucciarati, filling the void left in Polpo’s ‘suicide’. Pride swelling throughout Bucciarati’s team. Giorno smirked.

_‘This is just what we needed. The higher we are in the mafia, the closer we are to the boss. Once we get there, it’ll be smooth sailing.’_ Giorno thought to himself.

Pericolo brought the mood back down, telling them that there was one task left unfinished by Polpo, sent down directly from the boss. Naturally, the team freaked out, wondering what exactly the boss ordered Polpo to do in the first place. Pericolo told them to protect the boss’ daughter, even if it cost them their lives. 

Giorno felt his body stiffen and his blood run cold. He had hoped that there would be no strings attached on the path to rising in power in the mafia. When the gang was told that their mission had begun already, everyone stood in confusion. Where even was the boss’ daughter? That’s when Giorno turned his attention to Pink Hair, his eyes widening in realization.

“Bucciarati, wait. That girl.” Giorno said, catching the attention of the gang. “She must be the boss’ daughter.”

The rest of the gang gasped in realization. Giorno locked eyes with Pink Hair for a moment, her piercing green eyes meeting his own. Their gaze was broken a moment later by Bucciarati.

“Could that really be her?” Bucciarati exclaimed. The rest of the gang stood in stark silence, taking in all of the information.

Pink Hair spoke up. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to… you know.” She trailed off, majority of the gang understanding her implication.

“That’s alright, Trish. Go ahead.” Pericolo nodded, as Trish walked off.

_‘Well, now we have a name to a face.’_ Giorno thought once more.

Bucciarati ordered Mista, Fugo, and Narancia to go and wait outside the restroom to protect Trish. The three of them complied, leaving Bucciarati, Abbacchio, Pericolo, and Giorno alone. Pericolo explained to the rest of them that her full name was Trish Una, stating that she’s fifteen years old. Not even her name had a connection to the elusive boss, who Trish had never even met before. Pericolo went on to explain that Trish’s mother, Donatella Una, on her death bed, went hunting for the boss, believing his name to be Solido Naso, even though that name never existed. He went on even still, explaining how Trish became a big target in the famiglia, just because of her blood ties to the boss. This news had been great for the assassinations team, who were currently labeled as traitors to Passione. If they could get their hands on Trish, they’d have leverage against the boss himself. She ended up in Pericolo’s custody, who passed that custody down to Bucciarati. Pericolo explained that only the boss and himself knew who had Trish at that moment. Giorno took this time to speak up.

“Just one moment, Mr. Pericolo. Just to clarify, this was first Polpo’s mission, correct?” Giorno asked, earning a nod from Pericolo. “So then that means…” Giorno trailed off, Pericolo understanding his implication.

“More likely than not, your enemies are going to be stand users. I’d say that’d be a good guess, my boy” Pericolo confirmed. Giorno and Bucciarati’s faces contorted in a mixture of anger and worry, while Abbacchio looked pissed that Giorno got that from implications alone.

“They’ll most likely be working in teams. Unfortunately, we don’t know exactly how many of them there are.” Pericolo explained as he walked away. “I am not a stand user, so I’ve done all I can do. If I find any more intel, I shall find a way to reach you.” He finished, giving a backwards wave and leaving the gang.

Giorno heard the clacking of boots behind him, and turned his attention to the sound. Emerging from the restroom, Trish was now dressed in a dark brasserie and a pink and black long skirt with mathematical designs running along the skirt, and brown knee-high boots. At first glance, Giorno would admit that she was pretty. The blonde watched as Fugo took off his shirt, handing it to Trish, who then use his shirt as a hand towel, handing it back to Fugo after she used it. Fugo stood pissed for a moment, screeching as he slammed his shirt into the ground. Trish walked past Giorno, the two catching each other’s gazes yet again, before Trish took the lead.

_‘One minute, we’re hunting the boss, and the next were face to face with his own flesh and blood. This has to be done. If we can prove our worth to the boss, he’ll put the same amount of trust in Bucciarati as he did in Polpo. But, if we fail, we’ll miss our chance, and our story will end there.’_ Giorno couldn’t help but think to himself as the team departed Capri back to mainland Italy.

* * *

Back on the boat, Giorno sat under the beating sun, keeping an eye out for enemies and observing Trish’s actions. She sat on a lounge chair that Mista had pulled out from within the cabin, with her legs held against her chest, curled up in the fetal position, idly watching the ocean with little enthusiasm. Trish looked so small when she sat like that. Giorno wondered if it was something she did out of habit or if it was a new coping mechanism for her.

Trish broke her gaze from the sea, and cast it onto Giorno once again. For the third time today, the green-eyed teens stared at each other. 

“Hey, blondie.” Trish called.

And for the second time, Giorno felt his blood run cold. What could she possibly want with him?

“Yeah? What do you need?” Giorno asked.

Trish gestured him over to the lounge chair to sit next to her. Giorno complied and sat down next to the girl.

“So, what exactly did you call me over here for?” He asked Trish.

Trish shrugged. “I just needed someone to talk too. Your boss seems kinda cold.” She said, looking towards Bucciarati, who was focused on driving the boat.

“Bucciarati’s usually like that. I haven’t known the guy for long, but he does care about his team.” Giorno stated simply.

Trish cocked an eyebrow. “How long have you even been on his team?” She questioned, genuinely curious.

Giorno cupped his hands and called across the boat. “Hey Mista! You got the time!?” He called to the blue-capped teen.

Mista turned to Fugo and asked him, who glanced down at his watch and muttered something to Mista.

Mista cupped his hands and shouted back “It’s eleven AM!”

“Grazie, Mista!” Giorno called back, looking back at the bewildered pinkette.

“Officially around two hours or so.” Giorno casually admitted.

Trish raised her eyebrows in amusement. “Seems like you’re the one who practically runs this place. I swear, you have this energy to you that I just can’t explain.” She said to the blonde teen.

Giorno chuckled. “To be fair, more likely than not, that energy you’re referring to is something everyone else on this boat also has.” He replied.

Trish shook her head. “No, it’s not that. Sure, everyone has those… stand… things. I’m talking about just your general aura. You carry yourself as if you’re actually the boss of the whole damn mafia.” She explained.

Giorno cocked up an eyebrow. “Are you just trying to get my ego up just so you can break it down later, or do you actually mean that?” He questioned.

Trish once again shrugged. “That’s for you to decide.” She replied.

The two teens shared a chuckle with each other. There was a momentary pause, before Trish spoke up again.

“I know you already know my name, but just call me Trish.” She said.

Giorno pondered for a moment, before glancing back at her. “Only if you call me Giorno.” He smirked.

Trish donned a smirk of her own. “We’ll see about that…” She paused, glaring right into Giorno’s eyes. “…Giorno.”

Once more, they shared a laugh, before Trish politely dismissed Giorno, the blonde teen realizing that the team was nearly ashore.

However, this interaction caught the attention of a certain blue-capped teen.

“Dude, what were you and Trish talkin’ about?” Mista drilled into Giorno.

The blonde stood baffled. “She was just making small talk. It’s not a big deal.” Giorno replied.

Mista gawked at Giorno. “Uh, yea it is. You were yammerin’ away with a girl. Even though Bucciarati ordered us to not talk with her. Of course, it’s gonna be a big deal.” He explained.

Mista looked back at Giorno, a devilish grin forming on his face. “Especially after our talk on Capri.” He said slyly, earning a groan of disappointment out of Giorno.

“Come on Mista, I thought we dropped that conversation already.” Giorno muttered.

Mista smirked at the embarrassment of his comrade. “Nah, I’ve still been thinking about it. You into her?” He questioned.

Giorno glared back at Mista. “I’ve had one singular conversation with Trish. I can’t exactually gauge if I’m ‘into’ her from that alone.” Giorno defended himself.

Mista rolled his eyes, wrapping his arm around Giorno’s shoulder. “Sure, sure. But when you see that pink haired gal in a bridal gown walkin’ down the aisle towards ya, I’ll whisper into your ear, ‘I told ya so.’” He casually said to the blonde.

Giorno choked on his own breath. “Mista, we- I’m only fifteen. That’s _way_ too early to be talking about _that_. I barely know her in the first place.” He sputtered.

Mista, once again, felt humor in Giorno’s dismay. “All I’m sayin’ is I can see some kind of reaction between the two of ya, an’ it seems like a good one.” He stated.

Giorno went to defend himself, but the roaring voice of Abbacchio telling them to stop their conversation stopped their conversation.

_‘Thanks, Abbacchio.’_ Giorno never thought he’d ever say those two words together, but now was not the time to worry about who was being thanked.

Giorno had only hoped that their protection of Trish would go smoothly.


	3. It didn’t go that smoothly (Grateful Dead Part 1)

Because why would anything ever go Giorno’s way? It took all of a single day for the team to be spotted. When Narancia returned from his shopping spree, he came back empty handed and with news that the enemy knew their location. While Narancia was berated by Fugo and Abbacchio, Giorno commended him, because that was probably the best-case scenario for the team if Narancia was spotted. This earned a gleeful smile from Narancia, and glares from Abbacchio and Fugo. Although the two were staring Giorno down with death in their eyes, Bucciarati put the three of them on the next mission assignment from the boss; to retrieve a key from Pompei. From there, Giorno had one hell of an afternoon. Witnessing Fugo vanish into thin air before them, to seeing the psychotic enigma that was Purple Haze. Getting pulled into a mirror was another ‘fun’ experience for Giorno. Once their enemy was liquified beyond recognition by Fugo’s deranged stand, the trio returned to Bucciarati, to set out on the road once more and get to their next destination.

On the trip to the Napoli train station, Abbacchio inspected the inside of the key, seeing their new instructions; head to the 6th platform of the train station and take the earliest train to Venezia. Giorno, being the responsible driver he is, looked in his rearview mirror. Glancing back, he made sure there weren’t any cars coming up or following them. His eyes then shifted in the mirror to the pinkette in the back. Something about Trish always caught Giorno’s attention. This time, it was the dejected look in her eyes. To Giorno, Trish looked all alone, like she was scorned by the world itself. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl. Giorno glanced back in the rearview mirror once more to see any incoming cars. When the lane next to him was clear, he flipped on his turn signal.

“Hold on, guys.” Giorno called, sharply merging into the right lane.

All seemed good for a second, before Giorno heard Mista’s war cry of fear. He glanced back in the rearview mirror, seeing Mista holding Fugo by the back of his collar, similar to holding a cat by the scruff of its neck. Practically tossing Fugo behind him, Mista began pleading with Trish.

“Please miss, you gotta forgive Fugo. He didn’t mean to come off as an over-eager horndog.” Mista’s words tumbled out of his mouth.

Giorno, while focused on the road, looked mildly confused. What the hell happened back there?

Mista continued, pleading “I know it seems like we hit the brakes so my man here could peak at those jaunty jiggle sacks, but I give you my word that’s NOT IT! Blame his weakness in the face of boobs!”

“Now shut up, would ya!” Fugo cried back, trying to defend himself. “I was bracing for impact, and you’re making it sound like I was tryna cop a feel!”

Oh. So that’s what happened. Giorno had a better picture of the situation. Looking at Trish, she seemed equally confused. She seemed to understand that it was an accident.

Mista sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “Just promise me whatever you do, please don’t tell the Boss!” He cried to the pinkette.

Giorno had to give props to Mista. The blue capped teen’s acting seemed quite good. If all went well, he might suggest taking up improv to Mista. And with that, the gang pressed on to Napoli’s train station

* * *

Once at the station, Bucciarati and Giorno found their objective, right at platform 6; an unsuspecting turtle. The synapses in Bucciarati’s brain were telling him to put they key in the key shaped dent in the turtle’s shell. With that puzzle figured out, Bucciarati leapt onto the train, fearing that they were being followed. Bucciarati quickly crammed his team into the key, along with himself. Once inside the key, the team realized they were stacked to the brim with supplies. A couch, two arm chairs, and a wooden chair along the wall with the mini fridge, and a television set. With the turtle, whose name was Coco Jumbo, inside the cabin of the train, Team Bucciarati had little to fear. 

The team got quite comfortable inside the key. Fugo and Abbacchio opted to lay down on the couch, deciding that they deserved a well-earned nap. Giorno, on the other hand, simply went to grab a drink of cold water. Mista and Narancia had their backs to the wall adjacent to the wooden chair. Bucciarati and Trish sat in the armchairs, both drinking from their own glasses of water. Giorno returned to his spot on the end of the couch, taking a sip of water, and placing it down onto the coffee table. Mista sighed and made his way to the fridge.

“Guess bein’ inside a turtle has its drawbacks. It’s kinda muggy in here.” Mista muttered aloud, grabbing out a can of soda.

“Hey, Narancia. You want a drink?” Mista called to the shorter boy. 

Narancia didn’t respond, the boy seemed to be drifting out of consciousness. This was something that caught Giorno’s attention. From the short time he’s been on Bucciarati’s team, Narancia would immediately respond to being offered a drink.

“Hope you’re okay with it being cold.” Mista went on, before listing off everything in the fridge, from mineral water, to colas, to various fruit juices.

Mista poked his head out of the fridge, glancing at Narancia. “Hey, are listening to me at all?” Mista questioned.

Narancia turned his head to Mista, cupping his right ear in his hand. “Huh? Did’ja say something to me, Mista?” He asked, his voice partially strained.

Giorno, opting to take another sip of water, sat up, and glanced at Narancia, whose skin seemed duller than usual. 

“I asked if you wanted something to drink.” Mista called back, taking out a bottle of cola from the fridge. “Although you might want to take a nap. You look like you’ve seen better days there, man.”

Mista’s comment on Narancia caught the attention of Trish and Bucciarati, who now turned their attention to Narancia, who was hunched over like an old man.

“You can rest, and I’ll keep an eye on the ceiling.” Mista’s tone softened, seeing Narancia in that state.

“Sounds like a plan. I’m starting to feel a little achy anyway. My back an’ shoulders are killin’ me!” Naranica called, sitting down on the wooden chair.

“If you could, get me something warm. Nothing too heavy, keep it light.” Narancia said to Mista.

“Does your brain shut off when you’re talking to people? I said we only have cold drinks!” Mista yelled back, hoping his message would finally get across to Narancia.

“Banana it is then.” Narancia stated, reaching over to the coffee table for one of the bananas in the fruit bowl. 

Narancia clutched onto the banana, like it was some kind of anchor. The seventeen-year-old boy sighed, glancing at the magazine. “Gardens like these help to sooth the soul. Your stress just melts away. Man, oh man. What I’d give to bask in that garden’s warm sunshine just daydreaming, like the good old days.” He stated wistfully, like he was reminiscing on a youth long gone. Narancia licked his index finger, and flipped a page, sighing with content. Mista, Bucciatati, Giorno, and Trish were all perturbed by Narancia’s actions.

Mista grimaced. “Gross. Would ya cut that shit out? Nobody wants your nasty ass spit on the damn pages.” He called to Narancia, closing the refrigerator’s door.

“Huh? You’re saying I did what now?” Narancia called, his voice even more strained than before.

“There’s no way I’d do that. Y-you’re crazy.” Narancia went on, before coughing roughly into his fist. So roughly that gobs of blood stained his clenched fist. Mista caught a glimpse of something white hanging on by a thread dangling outside of Narancia’s mouth. 

Giorno quickly stood up and made his way to Narancia. “Narancia, I can heal you if you want.” Giorno said to the boy.

Narancia didn’t seem to notice Giorno’s presence as he began pealing the banana. Giorno and Mista shared a glance, before the two of them focused their attention on Narancia.

“You’re ah… droolin’ pretty bad there, man. That’s nasty. The hell is that?” Mista questioned, pointing to the dangling tooth. The tooth dangled even lower, before it was in full view of both Giorno and Mista, both of them recoiling. 

Almost as if by magic, Narancia’s hair began going a light gray by the tips. Giorno’s eyes widened in shock. Upon closer inspection, Giorno could see prominent wrinkles across all of Narancia’s body. 

“I was craving this banana, but it’s no good.” Narancia wheezed, and another cough escaped the boy. Giorno glanced down, seeing the banana that yellow a few seconds ago was now a deep shade of brown.

“I mean just look at it. It’s like an old stale piece a’ beef jerky.” Narancia muttered, not even realizing he was bleeding onto the banana.

Reasonably terrified out of his mind, Mista slowly made his way to Giorno and Narancia. The blue capped teen tried to laugh it off.

“Real funny there, Narancia. You had me goin’ there for a minute. Good on ya, Narancia. Don’t scare me like that.” Mista chuckled in a scared manor, pointing his finger at Narancia.

“It almost looks like that think comin’ out of your mouth is a real tooth.” Mista jested, glancing up at Giorno. Mista continued, complementing Narancia on the elaborate prank, before Giorno interjected.

“M-Mista, I’m afraid that _is_ a real tooth.” Giorno said, both of them sharing a glance. They cast their gaze back upon Narancia, who now had a full head of gray hair, and even more wrinkles crawling along his body.

“Didja say something, Giorno? Could ya speak louder?” Narancia glanced up, and Giorno finally got a glimpse of Narancia’s face. His eyes were sunken in, and his cheeks caved inwards. Giorno stumbled back in horror. Narancia went on and on, shouting incoherently. 

What the hell happened to Narancia? 

Was it an enemy? 

How did they find them? 

How _could_ they find them? 

These questions raced through Giorno’s mind like a computer trying to decode an algorithm. Giorno stepped back, glancing at the couch where Fugo and Abbacchio laid. Their bodies looked similar to Narancia’s, lifeless and old. Giorno looked himself over, and realized that, while his skin did look dull, he wasn’t wrinkly like Narancia. Although not to the same degree as the other three, Giorno realized that Bucciarati, Mista, and Trish were all aging slowly. After Narancia looked in a mirror and saw that he was an old man, he promptly passed out from the shock, while Mista propped him up onto the couch. The four that were still awake tried to collect their thoughts.

“It would seem we’re under attack.” Bucciarati, as calmly as he could, stated.

“The question is, from where?” Giorno muttered, ready to summon Gold Experience at any moment.

Mista slammed his fists down on the table in frustration. “Dammit! How the hell are we supposed to figure this out while half of our guys are down an’ out? We don’t even know where they’re comin’ from!” He shouted.

“Mista, calm down. Screaming isn’t going to help. We need to think about this rationally.” Bucciarati consoled the gunman.

Giorno cast his gaze upon his glass of ice water. With thoughts running through his head, he looked to where Trish and Bucciarati were sat, seeing that they too had glasses of ice water.

“I’ve got it. It’s body temperature! Those with a lower body temperature age slower than ones with warmer bodies.” Giorno exclaimed, earning a nod from Bucciarati.

“That would explain why you, Trish, and I seem to be aging slowest. And Mista was by the fridge, which cooled him off.” Bucciarati stated aloud.

“Then how come I’m aging the slowest out of all of us?” Trish spoke up.

“In biology, I learned that women’s bodies tend to be colder than men’s bodies. It could be that they knew what they were searching for, and are indiscriminately attacking everyone on this train.” Giorno said, earning fearful looks from everyone else awake. 

Proving his theory of cooler bodies aging slower, he picked out a piece of ice from his glass, and placed it near Narancia’s left eye. Almost instantly, the boy’s eye returned to a bright purple gleam. Mista practically whooped with joy at Giorno’s theory in practice.

“Alright then! Let’s get to reanimating these corpses!” Mista cheered, reaching into the fridge’s ice tray.

“Mista, wait!” Bucciarati cried to the gunman. “We need to ration the ice!”

Mista’s gleeful expression turned downtrodden when he saw only two pieces of ice in the tray.

“We need to be careful, even if we’ve already figured out our enemies’ ability. One of us should find our guy, while the rest of us keep an eye on our teammates.” Giorno warned.

“He’s right. Mista, you’re on hunting duty. Take the ice with you and take down the stand user by any means necessary.” Bucciarati instructed the blue capped teen, earning a smirk out of Mista.

“This’ll be no problem for me. My Sex Pistols’ll find our enemy and put em’ six feet under.” Mista proudly boasted.

“Just get out there quickly. Our bodies are aging at blinding speeds.” Bucciarati warned, feeling the wrinkles under his eyes growing by the second.

With a simple nod, Mista exited the turtle with the two ice cubes, leaving Giorno, Trish and Bucciarati on body-watching duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Canon now slightly changes once again. Hope no one's mad at that.


	4. Elder Watching (Grateful Dead Part 2)

It had been all of ten minutes since Mista left on a manhunt, leaving Giorno, Trish, and Bucciarati to keep an eye on Fugo, Narancia, and Abbacchio respectively. Trish kept the ice cube around Narancia's face, with Giorno doing the same to Fugo. However, Bucciarati just kept a stern eye on Abbacchio, having not even used a single ice cube on him. This did not go unnoticed by Giorno and Trish.

"Bucciarati, is there any reason why you haven't attempted to de-age Abbacchio?" Giorno questioned.

Bucciarati turned his attention to the blonde boy, stating "When our enemy is defeated, and Mista returns, then I'll heal Abbacchio."

Giorno opted to say nothing, leaving their conversation at that. But Trish, on the other hand, felt unsatisfied with Bucciarati's answer.

"So, you're saying that you'll just leave him to be geriatric, huh? What if he doesn't de-age once the guy doing this is dead? If we run out of ice before then, they may be geezers for the rest of their lives." She retorted.

Bucciarati sighed. "That's a gamble I'm willing to make." He muttered.

Giorno sighed to himself, seeing where this conversation was going. Trish was, reasonably, gob smacked. How could someone be so laissez faire about their teammate's lives?

"Do you even hear yourself, Bucciarati? What if that gamble doesn't pay off? That's why we need to work on the here and now! They're getting old, and we have a solution right before us!" She shouted, reaching into her glass and holding another piece of ice to Narancia's face as the boy's wrinkles disappearing.

Bucciarati turned to Trish, keeping his composure. "We need to focus on keeping ourselves from becoming like one of them. If Mista doesn't return, then it'll be one of us who has to go out and take care of our enemy." He flatly told Trish.

"So that's it, huh? You're willing to sacrifice your teammate's lives to save your own skin? Do you even realize how selfish that is?" Trish kept drilling into Bucciarati.

Bucciarati, unfazed, turned to Trish, and glared right at her. "Listen to me, Trish. If we don't take precautions, we will all end up with our heads on a pike. The path I see before me is the path with the least- no, the path with no casualties at all." He uttered to the pinkette.

Giorno took this time to speak up. "Trish, I get how you feel, but we really do need to keep ourselves safe. I have faith in Bucciarati being right on this." He said, hoping that Trish would understand where they were coming from.

Trish sighed, before slumping herself down into the left arm chair. She supposed that the two of them were right, opting to keep her water close to her. She shut her eyes for but a moment, before she heard a screeching voice.

"Bucciarati! Bucciarati!" It cried, Trish's eyes shooting open. She looked around the room, searching for the voice. She could see, in front of Bucciarati, was a small yellow figure, its head resembling that of a bullet.

"Number Six?" Bucciarati questioned, his face contorting in worry. Bucciarati's entire focus was on that of Number Six, not noticing Trish's confused looks.

"Mista's down and out. Three shots to the head, point blank. And there're two guys we gotta deal with." Number Six explained.

Bucciarati simply nodded. "Number Six, come with me." He told the stand, handing Number Six a piece of ice.

He then turned his attention to the two teens. "Giorno, Trish. Under any circumstances, do not leave this turtle." He directed, before turning directly to Giorno.

"If I fall, I entrust you to make sure that Trish gets to the boss." Bucciarati warned him, Giorno giving him a single nod.

"Very well then. Let's go, Number Six." Bucciarati announced, him and the lone Sex Pistol departing the turtle, leaving Giorno and Trish alone among the sleeping 'elders'.

Giorno turned to Trish, mildly curious. "So, you could see Number Six, right?" He questioned.

Trish nodded. "For a good while, I honestly thought you were lying about the whole stand thing. Just another smoke and mirrors trick. But seeing this now, and seeing that little guy, things are in a better perspective for me." She said.

"So, if you can see stands, then does that mean you…" Giorno trailed off, Trish understanding his implication.

"I can feel something in the back of my mind, but I just can't summon it. It feels like somethings blocking my ability to use it." Trish explained, Giorno simply nodding.

"It might be awhile before you fully awaken to your powers. I've had mine since I was a kid, but my physical stand didn't manifest until a few months ago." Giorno explained, and to demonstrate his point, he summoned his stand.

Trish eyed the stand over carefully, keeping an eye on the ladybug motifs. "Does it have a name?" She questioned.

"I call him Gold Experience." Giorno replied.

Trish cocked an eyebrow. "You a fan of Prince?" She asked.

Gioron chuckled. "Not exactly, no. The name just came to me when he manifested. I'm sure it'll be the same for you." He said.

"We'll see if I even awaken to it. We'll be meeting the boss in a day or so anyway." Trish replied, standing up, looking up outside the key, not seeing much from their current position.

Giorno sighed. "Then after that, we'll…" He paused, realizing that this would probably be the last time they would see each other.

Trish nodded. "I know." She simply said. The air around them seemed to be a bit heavy, neither of them knowing if it was a stand's attack or just the tension around them.

Trish turned her attention back to Giorno, attempting to break the tension in the room. "Hey, Giorno. When all of this is done, and life goes back to normal, do you wanna-"

**"GRATEFUL DEAD!"**

The sound of the metal door smashing off of its hinges sprung Giorno and Trish's fight or flight responses to life. Giorno summoned Gold Experience, stepping in front of Trish, acting as a pseudo shield.

"Stay behind me, you'll be safe." Giorno cautioned, his eyes trained on the foes before them.

Short blonde hair in a black coat, and a skin-colored carrot with a fishing rod stood before them, the carrot nearly jumping back in surprise.

"Wh-What the hell is that?!" The carrot cried, pointing right at Coco Jumbo in shock. He realized a moment later that it was, in fact, a turtle.

The blonde smirked, saying "We found her. It's Trish. And I can see the others too." The man's face slightly sagged. "With the exception of the donut duo, everyone else is at death's door."

Giorno and Trish tensed, getting ready to leap out and defy Bucciarati's order. The man on the outside smirked, proclaiming he'd age the turtle even more. Giorno looked to the man's stand, a white figure adorned with multiple eyes, missing its lower half of it's body, readying it's fist to punch the turtle.

"W-Wait a sec, Prosciutto!" The carrot cried, catching the attention of the blonde man. "Isn't there… one of them missing?"

Prosciutto seemed to go cold. How did one of them get out? Surely, they'd be aged beyond recognition if they were out of the turtle.

"It's Bucciarati, bro. Bucciarati's the one missing!" The carrot exclaimed, pointing right into the key.

"That doesn't matter, Pesci. Not once I've sent this turtle far beyond the gates of Hell." Prosciutto proclaimed.

Unbeknownst to the two men outside the turtle, Bucciarati was slowly emerging from a zipper on the ceiling of the train's cabin. This caught the attention of the two inside the turtle, both of them keeping a steady eye outside of Coco Jumbo.

"It just doesn't matter! Just get to work! **GRATEFUL DEAD!** " Prosciutto roared, readying his stand's fist again, before Bucciarati fully unzipped, revealing himself, sending Sticky Finger's fist flying right at the stand. Grateful Dead just barely blocked, catching both Prosciutto and Pesci off guard.

"He's attackin' from above!" Pesci eloquently pointed out.

Giorno and Trish watched the events unfold right before them. Bucciarati and Prosciutto were at a stalemate, while Pesci seemed to be a blundering mess. Grateful Dead reached to grasp onto Sticky Finger's outreached arm, with the latter quickly moving out of reach of the former. Two punches knocked Prosciutto off-kilter, as Sticky Fingers quickly exited the zipper, engaging in combat with Grateful Dead. Any punch that Grateful Dead tried to land completely missed, leaving Bucciarati's stand to effortlessly dodge each and every incoming punch from Grateful Dead. Sticky Fingers' fist shot forward, landing squarely on Prosciutto's chin, forming a zipper, and throwing Prosciutto of balance as he tried to withstand Sticky Fingers' assault.

Prosciutto called to Pesci, telling him to focus on the turtle, catching the attention of Bucciarati. He shot right out of the zipper, delivering a swift kick to the side of Pesci's head, knocking him out cold instantly. This action caused Bucciarati to be caught out in the open, with Prosciutto and Grateful Dead looming over him, the latter having the advantage over Bucciarati. However, Bucciarati effortlessly unzipped his own head, allowing Grateful Dead's fist to pass through the gap in his skull. Prosciutto stood shocked for a moment, leaving Bucciarati an open window to summon Sticky Fingers, with his stand's fist flying right into Prosciutto's gut, knocking him to the right side of the cabin with a thud. Prosciutto's breathing was shallow, as Bucciarati rose to full height.

"I will fulfil my mission and save my famiglia. If the only thing that's standing in my way is you, well then, victory is already well in hand." Bucciarati declared, before he felt the wrinkles on his face grow with much vigor.

Number Six cursed internally, realizing the ice was doing nothing to help Bucciarati. Prosciutto taunted Bucciarati, prompting Bucciarati to summon Sticky Fingers once more, launching a laughably slow assault on the blonde. Prosciutto smirked, catching the stand's fist mid-punch, knocking it to the floor. Giorno and Trish cringed, realizing Bucciarati was on the ropes, nearly at death's door. At that moment, however, Bucciarati went on about how he knew the risk of attacking Prosciutto.

"My mission must be completed, and I will protect my crew." Bucciarati uttered, keeping his glare at Prosciutto.

"Capos worth their salt must be prepared for both. That is the burden we all carry." He continued, grasping onto Prosciutto's arm with this own.

"Can you say the same?" Bucciarati's grip tightened on Prosciutto.

"Coz I'm rarin' to go."

Then, after a brief argument between the two men, the side of the train was unzipped by Sticky Fingers, allowing for Bucciarati and Prosciutto to fly right out the train.

"Shit, Bucciarati!" Giorno cried, ready to leap out of the turtle, only to be stopped by Trish's iron grip on his arm. Was her grip that strong, or was his arm that soft?

"Giorno, wait. Look over there." Trish called, pointing right outside the turtle. It was faint, but they could clearly see a hand still gripping onto the outside of the zipper.

He could see Pesci freaking out, once he came to. He saw the zipper slowly closing, causing those in the turtle and Pesci to freak out even more. All at once, the zipper closed and Pesci screamed, summoning his stand and launching it at what he assumed to be Prosciutto. Pesci exited the cabin, holding onto his stand for dear life, leaving the turtle alone. But the turtle itself followed Pesci out of the room. Giorno and Trish waited with bated breath, to see if Bucciarati had survived or perished. Giorno glanced over to the others passed out on the couch, and watched in shock as, all at once, their age had begun to revert. Trish noticed too, breathing a sigh of relief. Bucciarati seemed to be correct about the aging reverting once the stand was eliminated.

But one should not celebrate too soon.

As if the stand was waiting for them to de-age, everyone inside the turtle began rapidly aging again. Giorno and Trish cursed to themselves, realizing that Prosciutto was, somehow, still alive. The teens glances at themselves, both of them aging back to where they were before. Looking back outside, Pesci seemed to change completely. He didn't seem scared anymore. Rather, he had the cold dead stare of a killer, one that had witnessed countless acts of bloodshed without any remorse for their victims. What could cause someone's personality to change so rapidly over a few moments? But that façade seemed to drop, once he became overridden with panic. In an act of desperation, Pesci grabbed the turtle and stuffed it into his inner coat's pocket. He quickly pulled the e-brake on the train and ran outside.

Within the turtle, however, Giorno and Trish were once more in the dark, waiting for something to happen. Outside, they could hear the faint voice of Bucciarati and Number Six, thankful that their allies were still alive. After a few seconds, however, their relief was cut short, as Trish was ripped out of the turtle.

"TRISH!" Giorno cried, trying to grab onto her leg, but she was gone before he could act.

Trish sat on the outside, baffled, uttering "Giorno, what-"

"Take her and run leave now, and I'll let her keep her life." Pesci coughed behind her.

Trish turned around, looking up at the man that had ripped her out of Coco Jumbo, seeing his neck had been completely broken, leaving Pesci to choke on his own blood. Trish crawled backwards at breakneck speeds towards Bucciarati. The two watched as Pesci pulled out the turtle from his coat, Number Six pointing it out to Bucciarati.

"I ain't got much time left, but the least I could do is give you a parting gift. The gift of knowing you failed you famiglia. Now watch as I crush this thing beyond recognition!" Pesci proclaimed to Bucciarati.

"Shit, the rest of the group'll be smashed to death!" Number Six shouted. Trish's breath was becoming heavier every passing moment, cursing at herself for feeling useless.

However, Bucciarati was unfazed. "You know," He began "I admired that glint in your eyes. There was an unrelenting nobility to them. You don't see that very often."

Bucciarati's glare settled onto Pesci's eyes. "Pity, it's vanished. Now you're nothing but a disgraced swine." He stated to the man before him.

Pesci was unsurprised. "Am I now? I disagree. The only one's falling from grace are your friends in this damn turt-"

His declaration was cut short by a golden fist ramming into the side of Pesci's head. Pesci stumbled back, slower than usual. Bucciarati smirked, reminding himself to thank Giorno by the end of this. Sticky Fingers' arm shot forwards, grabbing onto Pesci and pulled him towards Bucciarati and Trish, stopping mere inches away from Bucciarati's face.

"I can tell you've lived life as the eternal screwup. Don't change on my account." Bucciarati said, yanking the turtle out of Pesci's hands, giving it to Trish, and launching Pesci in the air. As the man began his descent, Sticky Fingers wasted no time in launching a barrage of punches at Pesci.

"ARI ARI ARI ARI ARI ARI ARI ARI ARI! **ARI!** " Sticky Fingers roared, as Pesci's entire body was unzipped, piece by piece.

"Arrivederci."

Pesci's lifeless bits were fell unceremoniously into the river, as Bucciarati gave a two-finger salute to the man. After that, he and Number Six went to check on Prosciutto's corpse, leaving Trish to herself. That didn't last long as Giorno soon left the turtle, checking around their immediate area. Then he focused his attention on Trish, who was humming softly to herself, like she was trying to calm herself. Giorno then looked where her hand laid, and he was mildly terrified at what he saw.

"There's something I need to ask." Trish interjected. "Will you be willing to cooperate?"

Bucciarati turned his attention from Prosciutto's corpse to the two teens. "I know I've been lenient with you two, but we don't have the authorization to do so. You know our mission is to only safeguard your life." He coldly told her.

Trish, unfazed by Bucciarati's answer, shot back "You **_will_** answer my questions. Tell me, just who am I, really?" A light pink aura surrounded her entire body.

"What the hell is this?" She questioned, pointing down to the giant hand shaped dent in the earth. "How did it get on the ground? Why are these _bizarre_ marks appearing near my feet?"

Bucciarati stiffened, akin to Giorno, both men reasonably terrified.

"How has a father I've never met turned me into a walking target?!" Trish shouted, her voice on the verge of breaking.

**"ANSWER ME!"**

Giorno could only imaging the one thing that was going through Bucciarati's mind; this confirmed that the boss' daughter is a stand user.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey. Just as a heads up, I may or may not be able to upload a new chapter next week. Just as a fair warning to anyone expecting a new chapter posted by next week, as exams are coming up for me.


	5. Teaming Up (Babyface)

So, her powers had partially developed. And the powers seemed quite promising. Would that mean the Bucciarati would stop treating her like a child? Trish sighed, realizing that there was a five-year age gap between the two of them, and she most likely seemed like a child to Bucciarati. Which… made a lot of sense in actuality. She just wanted to be seen as an equal, which was quite tough. The two sat alone in the turtle, awaiting further feedback from the rest of the team. The quiet made Trish a little antsy, as she felt nature calling. She stood up on a chair, and reached her arm out to try and leave, when Bucciarati called out to her.

“Trish, please get down from there. It’s too dangerous for you to leave.” He swiftly stated, a piercing authority in his voice, as was to be expected of a capo.

“Listen, Bucciarati, when it’s time to go, it’s time to _go_. And there aren’t any bathrooms in here the last time I checked, now are there?” Trish questioned, glaring right at Bucciarati.

Bucciarati leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hand. “You’re absolutely right. Just give me a moment.” He said, standing up and walking towards the closet. 

Trish was mildly curious as to what Bucciarati was planning. When she heard the sound of zippers, she knew it wasn’t a good sign.

“This closet will be our bathroom. Have at it.” Bucciarati presented the closet to Trish, which was entirely bare, save for an unzipped hole on the bottom of it’s floor. 

Trish grimaced at this. Bucciarati rubbed the back of his neck, continuing “I… don’t really know where this portal leads, but I’m sure the turtle will be fine. It might actually be good for him.”

Trish felt she was the only sane person in this group sometimes. She began sputtering at the capo. “Bucciarati, please tell me you’re not suggesting that I-”

**“Bucciarati, we’ll be traveling by car now.”** A booming voice came from above.

Trish snapped her neck to the source, facing Giorno’s gigantic face. 

Bucciarati nodded. “Once the area is secured, we can leave.” He stated to the blonde teen.

“Understood.” Giorno said, turning his attention to something else outside.

“I am never getting used to that.” Trish murmured to herself.

Bucciarati then turned his attention to Trish. “Well, if you’re not going to make use of it, then I will.” He said matter-of-factly, closing the door behind him, leaving Trish alone in the main room of the turtle.

Trish cast her gaze outside of the turtle, looking at Giorno’s expression, which warranted one of worry. “Giorno, is everything alright out there?” She called to him.

Trish looked around the turtle, realizing the door behind her was now ajar, with what looked like no one inside. But that couldn’t be possible. Bucciarati was just in there a moment ago. How could he have left? She didn’t even hear a zipper being opened. Cautiously, she approached, peeking her head around the corner. She nearly screamed at the sight of Bucciarati’s body being cubed.

“R-Run Trish! G-Get the hell o-out of here!” Bucciarati meekly cried.

That’s when she saw it. A small purple figure within the closet. Before she even realized it, her own body found itself outside of the turtle laying right next to Giorno.

“Trish, what are you doing out here? We’re being followed.” Giorno said to the pinkette, pointing to a motorbike.

“I know that! Bucciarati just got cubed!” Trish cried, standing up.

Giorno cocked an eyebrow. “Cubed? Wha-”

A fleshy chunk flew right in front of the two of them, both staring for a moment. Trish tried to keep her composure when she realized that the chunk came from Giorno’s neck.

“Trish, s-stick close.” Giorno rasped, the two of them standing back-to-back, eyeing their surroundings.

“How the hell can you even speak right now?” Trish questioned.

Giorno muttered under his breath, “Not sure.”

Another chunk flew right infront of Trish, watching as a green eye flew past her. She also watched as her body got further away from her left eye.

Trish silently cursed to herself, getting Giorno’s attention, as he turned around to see her cubed eye on the ground. He went to try and heal her, but she denied the gesture.

Trish growled. “Where the hell is this thing?” She muttered under her breath.

“Right behind you.” A new, shrill voice entered the fray.

Trish swung around, facing Giorno a little too close for her liking. But what she wasn’t planning on seeing was a rock, divided into cubed sections.

Both teens jumped back, Trish nearer to the wall, with Giorno closer to the motorbike, as he placed the turtle on the ground next to him.

“Splitting up, eh? I suppose it’s a good strategy.” The rock stated, lunging for Giorno. Now it was his turn to lose an eye. More specifically, his right eye. Giorno, in a last-ditch effort, glared over the half wall to the parking lot, trying to get his message to Trish. Trish realized that the team was on the other side of the wall. She quickly nodded, moving towards the half wall.

“Not so fast, girlie.” The rock called, moving at breakneck speeds towards Trish. Seeing this, as if by instinct, Trish reached for the ground and pulled it over her body, the ground around her becoming more elastic by the second.

“W-What the?!” The rock cried, bouncing right off the elastic grass, and crashed right into the motorbike.

Giorno and Trish stared for a moment, both in bewilderment at the scene before them. Had her stand powers been developing more? She supposed now was not the time to be questioning these things. She reached for her dismembered eye, and pushed it back into place, a gross squelching sound assaulting Trish’s ears, watching as Giorno did the same with his eye and throat piece.

The motorbike was now leaking gas, with the turtle close by. Cautiously, Giorno approached the motorbike, eyeing the surroundings for any visual on the enemy. Trish joined in, watching carefully. She thought about calling over the rest of the team, but that would most likely lead into a clean escape of the enemy.

Giorno reached for the turtle, and in the flash of an eye, the gasoline sprang to life, revealing a short purple humanoid figure. Giorno managed to get the turtle and keep his distance from the stand.

The enemy’s stand smirked. “I’m really only here for the girlie over there.” It pointed towards Trish, a scowl forming on her face.

“Sooo… you just have to disappear. No hard feelings, ‘k?” It stated to Giorno, the stand’s fist flying towards the teen. Giorno summoned Gold Experience to block the punch, but his right arm god ripped right off of him.

“HA! Gotcha!” The stand cried, taunting Giorno. “You aren’t even close to beating the immaculate power of me, Babyface.” Trish would have laughed at the ridiculous name, if they weren’t in such a life-or-death situation.

But Giorno stood firm, to the dismay of both Trish and Babyface for varying reasons. “Rearranging the human body into other objects, you just gave me a terrific idea.” Giorno glared right at Babyface.

“Now that I think about it, your abilities aren’t too dissimilar to Gold Experience. We both have the power to create something entirely new.” Giorno stated, keeping his gaze focused on the stand before him.

It was at this point that Trish realized Giorno’s dismembered arm was nowhere to be seen. Where did it even go?

At this point, it seemed Babyface was entirely done with Giorno’s rambling. It snickered, saying “You know what, I’ll give you credit. You did manage to spook me a bit back there, you bastard. And now get ready for the hurt, cause I’m gonna rip your head o-”

“As I was saying, you have a talent for transforming body parts into objects, correct?” Giorno interjected, interrupting Babyface mid-sentence.

“It’s inspired something in me.” Giorno continued, both Trish and Babyface seemingly lost as to where he was going with this.

“Maybe it was simply fate, or perhaps our similar abilities that drew us together.” Giorno droned on, as Babyface looked around it’s surroundings, searching for something, and Trish had an idea as to what the stand was looking for.

“Whatever it was, Gold Experience is a lot more capable now, thanks to you.” Giorno stated, the sarcastic thanks seemingly ignored by Babyface.

Babyface seemed on the verge of breaking. He began shouting, “Alright, where is it? Where the hell did the arm go? I know I tore it off, but how-”

“Tore it off, you say? You’ve got it all wrong.” Giorno said, his voice sounding like he said it with a devilish smirk, but his face was devoid of any emotion.

“I chose to let it go on purpose.” He casually admitted, earning shocked looks from Trish and Babyface.

“But I’m in a good mood today, so I’ll give you some solid advice. You might want to stop pointing that finger at me and defend yourself, rather than going after me.” Giorno advised.

Babyface was not amused. “You can shove that advice up your smug ass. Now die.” It shouted, launching it’s fist right at Giorno, just before the stands left arm began spasming, and bulging in odd places.

“That hand you just severed has already become a different organism, and is eagerly devouring you from the inside out.” Giorno flatly stated.

“Giorno, don’t tell me you turned your arm into…” Trish trailed off, looking right as Babyface’s bulging arm.

Giorno glanced over to Trish, and nodded. “Yep.” He said, popping the ‘p’ on the end.

All at once, a large fish bit it’s way out of Babyface, as the stand screamed out in pain.

“You guessed it. It’s a piranha.” Giorno called, Trish both horrified at the site of the piranha, and bemused that she got it right.

As Babyface writhed on the ground in pain, the piranha reverted back to it’s original state, laying there on the ground.

“There’s a hole that big in the back of it’s neck, and it’s still alive?” Trish murmured to herself.

“Goddamnit, screw this turtle shit.” Babyface shouted, as it landed perfectly on Coco Jumbo’s droppings.

“You’ll pay for this by dying in disgrace. That’s the least you can do for me.” The stand shouted at Giorno, the blond teen ignoring it’s threats, keeping an even glare with the stand.

“If Bucciarati won’t turn back to normal after I destroy you, then I’ll do it. You won’t get away. Your head’s next.” Giorno declared, summoning Gold Experience and pointed right at Babyface.

“Just try it, you fuckwit!” Babyface roared, launching itself right at Giorno. Giorno easily evaded the assault, as Babyface’s arm hung right above Gold Experience. 

“You’ve gotten me twice already. I’ve got a good grasp on your range.” Giorno stated, but in an instant, the arm grew in length, and slashed back down at Giorno’s body. The teen just barely had enough time to evade a fatal blow, but the wound still slashed its way across Giorno’s body.

“Shit, Giorno!” Trish cried, attempting to help Giorno, only for him to hold up a hand, signifying her to stop.

“I’m fine. It’s just surface level. But…” Giorno trailed off, glancing back to the stand before them.

“This bastard’s range just grew.” He muttered, watching as Babyface’s body began to grow, finally eye-level with Giorno and Trish.

Babyface cackled like a goblin. “Y’know, simple is best.” It uttered, earning a glare from Giorno.

Babyface pointed yet again. “I’m gonna kill this bastard exactly how I want to kill him.” It stated, beginning it’s rush to Giorno.

“Bring it back, **GOLD EXPERIENCE**!” Giorno shouted.

Trish watched as the bike turned into Giorno’s hand, returning to him within milliseconds, allowing for Gold Experience to launch a blow right to Babyface, landing directly on Babyface’s temple. 

**“MUDA!”**

The stand cried in pain, surprised by the attack.

“Seems to have been a direct hit.” Giorno muttered.

In an instant, Babyface cubed itself up, moving it’s head out of the way of Gold Experience’s fist, allowing for it to get an advantage over Giorno. This, however, did not faze Giorno in the slightest.

“You should probably get your eyes checked. You missed me, assclown.” Babyface taunted, gripping tightly on Gold Experience’s right hand.

“I’ve won. This is the end for you. And once I dispose of you, I’ll take the girlie over there back to my team.” It stated, earning a disgusted look from both teens.

“I feel like I should have warned you, but it’s useless now.” Giorno warned, but Babyface ignored him, opting to punch him right in the skull. But Babyface soon fell over, it’s left hand twitching like mad. Trish then realized that Giorno’s and Gold Experience’s right hands were missing.

“Wh-What the hell?!” Babyface cried out in anguish, wondering what had just happened.

“Look again. The hand brought back by Gold Experience wasn’t my own. It was the bike.” GIorno flatly stated, Babyface gasping in realization.

“I gave the bike life, and it returned to us as my hand.” Giorno explained, as the bike finally reverted, causing Babyface to become ripped open in many places.

“And you took that bike into your body, as a part of you.” He went on, reattaching his hand as Babyface screamed in agony.

“This… This is nothing.” Babyface growled, a pained/angered look present on it’s face, as it began to cube itself again. “I can just split apart and ge-” 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Giorno warned, as a clear liquid seeped out of the cubes, and onto the stand’s body. At that moment, the sparkplug sparked, causing Babyface to catch fire. Giorno was only a few inches away from the writhing stand, which was about to burst.

“Giorno! Get over here!” Trish cried, grabbing Giorno by the back of his shirt and pulling him away from the active fire. The stand exploded, Trish pulling at the ground to cover the two of them and the turtle from the explosion.

After the explosion, Trish and Giorno looked out from their cover, seeing Babyface’s corpse burn up to a crisp. Both teens sighed with relief.

“Are you alright, Trish?” Giorno questioned, their green eyes meeting once again. She said nothing for a moment, trying to catch her breath.

“Thank you, Giorno. I don’t want to imagine what it’d be like if I was caught by that thing.” The words tumbled out of Trish’s mouth like a verbal waterfall.

Giorno chuckled. “I should thank you for creating the blast shield. I’d probably be blown to bits if it wasn’t for you. And your powers seem to be getting more potent.” Like Trish, the words seemed to just tumble out.

At that moment, the two teens watched as Bucciarati stepped out of the turtle.

“Get to cover, we have an en-” Bucciarati shouted, before looking at the scene before him. A bike explosion a few meters ahead of him, and a pseudo shelter right at his feet, with the two fifteen year olds safely hidden within. 

“We got it already.” Giorno and Trish said at the same time, looking up at Bucciarati, much to the confusion of the older man. Giorno and Trish stepped out of their shelter, as the latex like grass returned to normal.

At that moment, Narancia and Abbacchio ran around the corner, running up to the trio already there.

“We heard Bucciarati shouting, and ran all the way over here.” Abbacchio said, glaring daggers at Giorno, betting that he had something to do with this.

“Sorry about this. We just had to deal with an enemy.” Trish stated, lancing over at the site of the explosion.

Abbacchio raised an eyebrow at that. “‘We?’ Don’t tell me…” He muttered, on the verge of shouting at Giorno. “You involved the girl in a fight!?” Giorno winced slightly, catching Trish’s attention for a moment. 

“It wasn’t his fault, Abbacchio. The enemy had already infiltrated the turtle. I was already compromised and Trish barely escaped. I’d say the two of them handled the situation quite well.” Bucciarati defended Giorno’s actions, much to the surprise of everyone there, minus Narancia.

Abbacchio kept his attention on Giorno, still angry. “So then how come you two didn’t call for any help?” He interrogated.

“It genuinely did cross my mind to call for you guys, but if I did that, then Giorno would have probably been taken, and that’d leave me all alone.” Trish explained.

“And how did you guys not hear anything that was going on over here? It was pretty friggin’ loud.” She added.

Abbacchio and Narancia now adopted bashful expressions, earning glares from the other three.

“W-Well you see, when you’re focussin’ on highjackin’ a car, your mind tends to not focus on the outside world.” Narancia mumbled.

“Don’t tell me you guys though a Goddamn **_explosion_** was nothing more than just background noise.” Giorno fumed.

Abbacchio and Narancia shared a glance, both muttering a “Maybe” under their breaths.

Bucciarati sighed. “Did you at least secure us transportation?” He questioned the two.

“T-That’s also why we came here, to tell you all that we got the car ready. We’ll be splitting up eventually, so all of us, minus Giorno, can get into the turtle and head out on the road.” Narancia explained, earning a nod from Abbacchio.

“Alright then, let’s get going.” Bucciarati said, returning to the turtle, followed soon by Abbacchio and Narancia.

Trish lingered for a moment, watching Giorno glance over at a brick idly sitting out in the field.

“You alright there, Giorno?” She asked, as Giorno looked back up.

“I’m just thinking that we should take out the user.” Giorno said, picking up the brick and transforming it into a snake.

“Now, follow the trail.” He said to the snake, as it slithered away from the teens.

Giorno just glanced back at Trish, a golden glint in his eye. “Just a little payback, is all.” He said, before gesturing for Trish to get into the turtle.

Trish simply followed suit, and entered the turtle. She took a seat on one of the chairs, taking in their current situation, as she also wondered why Giorno acted the way he did. She wondered why his eyes went gold for a moment, before she passed out a moment later.

* * *

Giorno glared back down into the turtle, a single thought crossing his mind.

_‘I will protect them all, no matter the cost.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giorno, your Dio is showing. Stop being corrupted, young man.


	6. The Problem with Time (King Crimson)

This day had been draining for Giorno. First came the mirror guy, Illuso, who had dragged him into another reality before Illuso was liquified beyond recognition. Next came the duo of Prosciutto and Pesci, who had nearly aged the team to extinction to try and capture Trish, both ending up very nicely dead. After that, Babyface had pissed off Giorno with it’s incessant taunting and constant evolution, who burned to a crisp and exploded. Giorno also made sure to sic a snake onto it's user, whose name he never knew, but was most likely a melon head. Giorno could tell for certain that he was dead to rights. Then came their most recent encounter, Ghiaccio, who tried to freeze everything around them to try and kill them. Giorno had to agree with the ice user on one thing; too many people were saying Venezia wrong. Aside from that, kind of an ass for trying to kill them. But that didn’t matter, mainly because Ghiaccio now had a piece of metal sticking out from the back of his throat.

Then that lead to Giorno healing Mista’s wounds on the bench. Mista wouldn’t stop screaming, and Giorno was sure that half of them were faked to just get a rise out of him. Giorno was glad that it was only him and Mista around. If anyone else had seen the two of them, they would have gotten the wrong idea. Then that would lead to questions, and Giorno knew that would lead to many distractions for him. And he knew he didn’t need any distractions. Well… any _more_ distractions. Something about Giorno seemed to change. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something in him had changed, and his mind kept being drawn back to it. He knew what it was. Deep down in the depths of his soul, he truly knew what had changed. But he chose to ignore it, at least for the rest of the mission. After this, hopefully everyone could go back to leading _somewhat_ normal lives. 

And maybe, just maybe, a small part of him wanted to actually talk to Trish again.

But like most emotions in his life, he suppressed those feelings, and pressed onward. The current objective was to get to San Giorgio Maggiore to drop of Trish to the illusive boss. The Boss that Giorno would one day hope to usurp. He toyed with the idea of escorting Trish to try and get even a fleeting glimpse of the man whom he would try and take the throne from. These thoughts culminated together from the time Bucciarati listed off the Boss’ final instructions from within the turtle to when the gang arrived at the church. Once there, the gang, after a quick fantasy about gorging themselves of food at a nearby hotel, and being yelled at by Bucciarati, reminding them that they were still on a mission, surveyed the area in an attempt to find any potential assailants. Bucciarati ordered Narancia to keep an eye on the radar.

“Bucciarati,” Giorno began, earning the attention of the capo. “I would like to offer myself up to be Trish’s guardian.”

Those words earned a small, fleeting smile from Trish. She seemed to be the most comfortable around Giorno, which made sense, considering he was the one she talked to most of the time.

“Please, trust me with this. Let me go with her to the bell tower.” He flatly stated, Bucciarati’s expression never faltering.

At least, until Abbacchio began to shout at the blonde. 

“Just who the hell do you think you are, kid!?” Abbacchio roared, the older man gripping tightly onto Giorno’s shoulder.

“Bucciarati’s our Capo, so he’s the one who’ll escort her, you arrogant prick.” He continued, not seeing Giorno’s pained expression. Unfortunately, Trish noticed. It wasn’t noticeable to most, but Trish was good at picking up on people’s expressions. Giorno, for his part, kept a straight face, but she could see something in his eyes. She could see what looked like a scared child, being reprimanded by an abusive father. And she feared that it wasn’t the first time that something like this happened to Giorno.

Giorno, keeping up the act, turned to Bucciarati, the two of them locking eyes for a moment, Bucciarati finally understanding Giorno’s intentions.

“Thank you, but I must go. Let’s move, Trish. Two were requested, and two it shall be.” Bucciarati said to the pinkette, whose expression turned downtrodden, as the two of them departed the boat and stepped onto the island.

Giorno and Bucciarati stared at each other for a moment once again, some kind of silent conversation occurring between the two of them. Of what it was, Trish wasn’t sure.

“Listen, Giorno. Given that this is our last mission, mind lending me a little bit of luck?” He asked, pointing to Giorno’s left brooch.

“Some see ladybugs as children of the sun, others as symbols of life. It’s like a talisman, yes?” Bucciarati questioned, both him and Giorno already knowing the answer.

“I guess so. Ladybugs _are_ bringers of good luck, after all.” Giorno stated, taking off the brooch from his shirt. He held out the brooch to Bucciarati, who gladly accepted it, staring at it for a moment. To the untrained eye, one would not suspect a thing was wrong. But Trish could have sworn she’d seen it pulsating just a moment ago. Carefully, he attached it to his outfit where it had been on Giorno’s outfit prior.

“Bucciarati.” Fugo called, earning Bucciarati’s attention. 

“Yes, Fugo?” He questioned, looking back at his first team member.

“This seems like the most fitting time to say this.” Fugo paused, his statement earning a small chuckle from the capo.

“Why so formal?” Bucciarati questioned, not meaning any harm in the question.

“Well, the thing is, I always knew you were destined to be Capo.” Fugo stated, admirably. 

Trish had to look away for a moment, holding back the urge to roll her eyes. _‘Calm down, Fugo. None of us are going to die. It’s just that I probably won’t ever see you guys again.’_ She thought to herself. It’s not like she had a bridge to burn with Fugo. Only one that she could was with…

She shook off those thoughts, turning back to the conversation at hand.

“If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that we will all see this mission through to the very end.” Fugo continued, earning a smirk from Abbacchio.

“Well of course he will.” Abbacchio remarked, as the rest of the team smiled admirably to Bucciarati.

“Together I know we'll rise all the way to the top.” Fugo finished.

Bucciarati was silent for a moment, like he was taking in Fugo’s words. He spared a passing glance back to Giorno.

“Yes, that we will.” He said in a quiet voice, turning around to head inside.

“The time’s come, Trish. Let’s go.” Bucciarati said to the pinkette, walking past her.

Like Bucciarati before her, she gave one last look to Giorno, a phantom smile upon her lips, before she left with Bucciarati, disappearing into the church a moment later. And just like that, the team of five was left outside on the boat to relax for a few moments. They all sat down a moment later, each taking up positions on the boat. Abbacchio sat at the stern of the vessel with Fugo, idly looking around the area for anything that caught their eyes. Narancia and Mista sat idly in the middle of the boat, doing nothing in particular, and Giorno sat at the bow of it, keeping a close eye on the laptop.

Narancia seemed to be awkwardly sat next to Mista, having not said a word since they had arrived.

“Hey, Narancia, you alright man? It’s not like you to be this quiet.” Mista questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

Naranica nearly jumped out of his seat due to Mista’s voice. “I-It’s nothin’, I swear.” He said, putting his hands up defensively.

This immediately caught everyone else’s attention, except for Giorno, who was still focused on his laptop.

“Alright, spill it. What’s on your mind?” Mista interrogated.

Narancia sighed. “When we were trying to find you guys earlier, I had seen the two of you, an’ I tried to call out to you guys, but you were…” He paused, trying to word his thoughts properly. “You and Giorno were getting’ _busy_ , if you catch my drift.”

Mista cocked an eyebrow for a moment, before he began histerically laughing, Abbacchio and Fugo looking away from the scene before them.

“H-Hey, what’s the problem?” Narancia questioned, his face contorting in confused anger.

“So, you’re thinkin’ that Giorno healin’ me was us ‘gettin’ busy’, eh Narancia?” Mista joked, as Narancia’s eyes widened, before he sheepishly looked away.

“O-Oh. Sorry ‘bout that. I just thought you were keepin’ it a secret.” Narancia muttered, as Mista smirked.

“Dude, Giorno and I ain’t gay, if that’s what ya’ worryin’ about.” Mista said, grabbing a box of chocolates on board the boat.

“It’s not that I was worried, it’s more like you didn’t tell us anythin’, ‘s all.” Narancia stated, grabbing a piece of chocolate from the box.

“I mean, if you want to be let in on a little secret, I think Gio’s got a little crush on a certain someone.” Mista said slyly, trying to get Giorno’s attention, to no avail.

Narancia looked back at Mista for a moment, before a grin crawled on his face. “I think I know who you’re talkin’ about.” He sniggered to Mista.

Unfortunately, these actions didn’t get a rise out of Giorno, his attention entirely focused on the laptop.

“Damnit, thought he’d at least give us a glare or somethin’.” Mista muttered, grabbing another piece of chocolate, just to realize it wasn’t there. His gaze immediately turned to Narancia, who held the entire box in his hands, attempting to devour them like the goblin he was.

“What the- Narancia, share those, damnit!” Mista shouted, reaching out for the chocolates, snatching them away from Narancia in one quick motion.

“Hey, Narancia, ever hear about the concept of sharing with your teammates!? Quit bein’ stingy.” Mista cried, trying his best to keep the chocolate’s away from Narancia.

“Why don’t you quit bein’ a dick? I bought ‘em with my money, so they’re goin’ in my gut.” Narancia fired back, but to no avail, as Mista still had the chocolates.

Fugo sighed, exasperated at the scene before him. “Give it a rest, Narancia.” Fugo muttered under his breath.

“Greedy bastard.” Abbacchio smirked, watching the events unfold with very little interest in them.

Giorno, however, now took position right on the island’s edge. He kept a keen eye on the laptop, along with the brooch infused with Gold Experience’s power. At that moment, he realized that the brooch was beginning it’s decent. It began to track through the crypt, with Giorno realizing that Bucciarati had gotten the brooch attached to the Boss. At that moment, Fugo asked Giorno kindly for the bottle of water in the duffle bag, reprimanding Giorno softly to remind him that they shouldn’t step foot on the island, no matter what. Giorno obliged, stepping back onto the boat, reaching down for the bottle. A moment later, Giorno was now squatting on the island, overlooking the entire boat. Abbacchio sat the same, nothing changed about him. But now, Fugo was drinking from the water bottle that he didn’t even have. Narancia had all of the chocolate in his mouth, a joyful look spread over his face, while Mista questioned how he could get the chocolates in time. Fugo thanked Giorno for the water, which confused the absolute hell out of the blonde teen. Giorno looked down, seeing cat paw marks across his pants, seeing them trail off towards the other side of the island, two of them stopping nearby to enjoy a fish.

_‘Something **bizarre** is going on.’ _Giorno thought to himself. Looking around the area near them, Giorno saw boats passing by without a second thought, like they didn’t even realize what had just happened.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Giorno said aloud, picking up the laptop and making his way towards the church.

“Hey, idiot.” Abbacchio called behind him, now standing at full height. “What part of our order to not leave was confusing to-”

“-you?”

Something happened again. Now, Abbacchio was off the boat, his hand gripped onto Giorno’s shoulder like earlier. The rest of the team stared at the two of them, their mouths agape. 

“It would seem we’re in deep trouble.” Giorno replied, a smug tone in his voice, given the dire situation at hand. But his tone dropped a moment later.

“The world; it’s not working the way it should. Bucciarati!” Giorno cried, running towards the church entrance, laptop and cellphone on hand.

“Damnit Giorno!” Abbacchio roared behind him.

Giorno called Bucciarati on the phone, warning him of the Boss’ location, warning him to not engage the Boss, but it would seem the time for that was over, unfortunately. He only hoped that Bucciarati and Trish made it out of this alive, even if he never would see her again.

* * *

How long had it been since Trish was knocked out? An hour, a minute, a moment? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she was ascending some kind of pillar. She awoke, looking right at the ground, staring down at a man shrouded in shadow. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt some kind of connection to him. She lithely realized that he was the Boss’, her father. She turned back to look at her savior, Bucciarati, who had a gaping hole in his chest and his arm nearly chopped off. Trish wanted to scream at the sight, but she knew that would be a bad idea, seeing as it could alert someone unwanted. With a quick zip up, Bucciarati unzipped the ceiling and tossed himself and Trish unceremoniously onto the church floor. With all her might, Trish rose to her feet, finally feeling the pain in her left hand. She looked at her wrist, a quick zip-up job done on it. She would have to thank Bucciarati later. For now, she focused on moving his body out of here. Trish reached out to Bucciarati’s body, slowly dragging him out of the church. She got to the stairs ascending out of the main cathedral hall, before her legs gave way.

“Shit, this is bad.” Trish muttered to herself. Whatever her father was plotting, she had to get away from him, and fast.

She heard footsteps approaching quickly, fearing that her father had finally reached them. Trish was relieved to see that it was Giorno, with a laptop snug in his hands.

Giorno’s eyes widened at the scene before him. “Trish! Bucciarati!” He cried, rushing right over to the two of them.

“I-I’m fine. Just heal Bucciarati.” She muttered. 

Giorno nodded, taking some broken tiles, and fitting them between Bucciarati’s wounds to give him something to work with. He summoned Gold Experience, and went to work, completely mending Bucciarati’s wounds. But Bucciarati’s chest remained still. The zipper from the opening of the crypt burst, as the zippers disappeared into thin air. Trish and Giorno snapped their heads over to it, looking fearfully at it. At that moment, the zipper on Trish’s wrist undid itself, as she cursed to herself.

“Trish, let me help.” Giorno offered in a hasty voice.

“Like I said, I’m fine.” Trish’s voice nearly betraying her words.

Giorno simply nodded, as the two of them focused their attention back to Bucciarati. His eyes were glazed over, and his jaw hung agape. His entire body was still, very corpse like. Trish wanted to cry at the scene before her. A man she barely knew sacrificed his life for her. And it seemed that Giorno was ready to cry as well.

_“Giorno, it’s me.”_ An ethereal voice coming from behind the blonde teen. Both teens looked to the source of the voice, and nearly screamed at the ghostly apparition of Bucciarati before them.

_“Call Abbacchio and the others. You and Trish need to get out of here, now.”_ Bucciarati’s voice sounded like that of a father, gently guiding his children on the right path.

Giorno and Trish stared at each other for a moment, before Bucciarati’s body sprang back to life. The capo sat up, using Giorno to help him get upright.

“I said to call Abbacchio and the others. Get out of here!” Bucciarati’s voice rasped.

“Bucciarati!” Giorno shouted, relieved.

“You’re alive.” Trish added, somewhat worried.

“Just call the others, damnit. For the time being, the boss’ identity will have to remain a mystery. We have to escape, or our lead won’t last!” Bucciarati called, quickly zipping up Trish’s hand again.

Giorno cast his gaze towards the hole, wondering if the boss was down there, observing their actions.

Trish and Bucciarati finally stood up, the trio ready to book it. “I’ll explain later, just get the others!” Bucciarati cried, pointing towards the laptop.

Giorno nodded, summoning Gold Experience, imbuing life into the laptop for a short moment, turning it into a fish. He tossed it down the hall, reverting life on the laptop just at the cathedral’s entrance, catching the attention of the rest of the team. Abbacchio and the others sprinted over to the trio, with loads of questions, all of which Bucciarati dismissed, restating that they needed to escape. The seven of them booked it for the exit, with Giorno heading up the rear, keeping a close eye on Bucciarati and Trish.

Once outside, Trish allowed herself onto the boat, lying down, idly looking out onto the harbor. She just wanted to ignore the outside world right now. It truly did scorn her. Her mother was dead, and now her father wanted to kill her. Fate truly dealt her a bad hand. And she had a career outside of this. How was she going to return to her old life after this? Of that, Trish wasn’t sure. But she knew one thing for sure; she wanted to kill her father. If he wanted to kill her, then why not make it a two-way street? 

Trish looked back up, watching as Abbacchio boarded the boat, followed by Mista, who smugly gloated to Giorno that he was next in line to be capo as he passed the turtle to the blonde. She wondered what had just transpired. What had Bucciarati said to them? Fugo and Narancia awkwardly stood, with Fugo not wanting to go on board, and Narancia asking Bucciarati what to do. Bucciarati warned Narancia not to join them if he was indecisive. With that, Bucciarati and Giorno boarded the boat, with Giorno sitting next to Trish in the middle of the boat. Giorno offered to let Trish into the turtle, to which she obliged. Right before that, however, she heard a loud splash behind them, watching as Narancia was swimming for dear life behind them.

Giorno looked at this, and pointed behind them. “Bucciarati, you might want to look at this.” He said to the capo, a bit of humor in his voice.

Narancia shouted towards the boat, screaming that Trish and him were one in the same. Bucciarati, for his part, gave one of the most caring smiles that Trish had ever seen. Trish, to herself, smiled that Narancia was joining them, whatever he was joining them on. With that, Trish entered the turtle, and sat alone on the couch, ready to cry to herself.

* * *

The gang was a few minutes out from their destination; a restaurant to get some food. They hadn’t eaten in well over a day, and they all needed something to eat.

“Giorno, could you check up on Trish for me?” Bucciarati asked, wanting to make sure that Trish was alright.

Giorno obliged and entered the turtle. Upon entering, he heard a soft singing to his right.

_So, don’t you ever worry anymore_

_Your ship will always find it’s shore_

_No matter the family you find_

_Just remember, I am yours and you are mine._

Giorno looked at the source, hearing Trish’s melodic voice, singing to herself. Giorno didn’t know how to approach this situation, so he did what he knew best. Sitting down awkwardly next to a person in need. Giorno took a seat next to Trish, who barely bat an eye as the teen sat down next to her.

“Hey, Giorno. I assume you heard that?” Trish mumbled, not even looking up from where she was looking.

“Only the last four lines.” Giorno admitted, Trish’s gaze casting itself away from Giorno.

“It was something my mom did to calm me down as a kid. Whenever I would come home from school or a bad day in recording, she would sing that song to me, and all would be right in the world.” Trish explained, an acute smile forming on her face. The smile vanished a moment later.

“But now she’s gone. All I have left of her is the songs and my memories.” She muttered, looking back at Giorno, their two gazes finally meeting each other.

“I’m sorry.” Was all Giorno said to her. He didn’t know how to properly handle this situation, and Trish didn’t blame him. She was just glad she was in the company of someone.

“I just want to make sure you’re alright.” Giorno added.

Trish nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever be fully fine. Not yet. But I’ll survive.” She gave the blonde a quick smile, to which he kindly returned.

“If that’s all, I should proabaly head out.” Giorno said, standing up and making his way towards the turtle’s exit.

“Just one question before you go.” Trish called to Giorno, the blonde stopping in his tracks.

“What is it?” Giorno asked her.

“What happened at San Giorgio? Why did Fugo leave?” Trish questioned.

“Oh yeah, you didn’t hear, did you?” Giorno asked, Trish shook her head.

“Well, we kind of became traitors to the Boss.” Giorno explained, Trish’s eyes widening at his statement.

“Oh, I see.” Trish muttered, sitting in silence for a moment, Giorno staring down at her.

“Uh, thanks.” She awkwardly said to Giorno, the blonde simply nodding, before leaving the turtle.

Trish, now alone again, realized how much she like Giorno’s company. But now she was all alone again, left to idle in her thoughts. She didn’t want that, not in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, it's me. I'm just putting this here as a warning, don't expect an update next week. It's the holiday season, and I'm most likely not going to have the time to upload on Christmas. If I do, then I do. Just don't expect it. That's all, ilventoaureo out.


	7. Just Relaxing, What Could Go Wrong? (Post. N. B. + Metallica)

There was no other way to put it. Giorno was tired. It had been battle after battle. Right after the first encounter with the boss, the gang stopped for an early lunch, to only be attacked by two stand users. Of course, Giorno ended up being live bait for one of them, allowing for Narancia to finish off the foes. Then came taking the plane, which was a non-issue Giorno thought at first, cause the guy who was approaching them was dead, and there was no way he could screw them over with his stand, right?

Right?

Notorious B.I.G was the biggest problem they had faced yet. A stand that could never die. How do you defeat it? Giorno wasn't sure. He was knocked out early on in the fight, losing both of his hands in the process. Thankfully he made an extra hand from one of his brooches. His hopes that it would be re-attached were answered, when Trish practically rushed in and tossed it to him, while Bucciarati zipped it back on. And now, Giorno just wanted to sleep, with no-one to interrupt his slumber.

"Hey, Giorno."

The young blonde heard a whispering voice in the back of his mind. He thought it was just his mind, and attempted to go back to sleep.

"Giorno, wake up."

The voice persisted yet again.

Giorno groaned quietly and slowly opened his eyes. Standing in front of him was Trish, who looked a bit anxious.

"Trish?" Giorno muttered, before looking around the turtle's room.

Narancia and Mista both lay back-to-back on one end of the couch while Abbacchio slept on the other end. As for Bucciarati, he was passed out on an armless chair in the corner of the room.

Giorno returned his attention to Trish, asking "Is everything alright?"

She nodded her head before speaking again. "I had wanted to have a little chat with you after this days events, if that's alright with you." Trish requested.

Giorno slowly sat up in the chair before looking at the clock on the end table, reading 11:00 PM.

Giorno sighed as he stood up, looking back at Trish.

"I guess I've got nothing else to do, so sure." Giorno replied, getting a smile out of Trish.

Trish led Giorno towards the coffee table and held out her hand. He cocked his eyebrow and looked at her.

"I don't think this is a good idea. The Boss' Elite Guard may still be hunting us." He said to her in a hushed tone.

She rebutted, stating "Considering we just crashed the plane we were on not even five hours ago, I doubt anyone from Passione is looking for us. They probably think we're all dead."

Giorno thought for a moment. 'She does have a good point.' He thought to himself, before taking her outreached hand. The two of them stepped forward and silently crept out of Coco Jumbo.

Giorno and Trish silently observed their surroundings. Directly in front of them lay a wide, empty beach, spanning a mile wide. The waves calmly crashed against the shoreline. Behind them lay a dense forest, secluding this end of the island from most tourists. The two of them walked slowly towards the beach, before stopping about half way between the water and the forest. Trish slowly sat down as Giorno silently followed. The two sat on the beach, watching as the waves flow in and out. Giorno then turned his attention to Trish, who was handing him a bottle of water. He gladly took the bottle from her, and returned his attention to the waves. The two sat in silence, observing the occasional chirp of an unrecognizable bird, or the sounds of a distant cricket.

"So," Giorno started. Trish turned her head in his direction. "What in particular did you want to talk about?" He asked.

"Well," Trish began "first, I just wanted to say thank you for everything up to this point." She said, before taking a sip of water.

"You and the rest of the gang haven't made me feel like a complete outsider, even if I'm just some escort." She muttered that last part.

Giorno chuckled, before saying "Don't even think of yourself as just some escort." Trish raised her eyebrow.

"What do you mean by that?" She questioned.

"Ever since this morning, when we betrayed the boss at San Giorgio, you've become one of us. You aren't any sort of regular person. You've got talent Trish. And that talent has helped us today." Giorno replied. Trish turned her head, as she felt her face begin to get red.

"Speaking of talent" Giorno continued "How did you, Bucciarati, and Abbacchio defeat that Stand?" He asked, remembering back to this morning, fighting Notorious B.I.G. and losing both of his hands. Luckily, Giorno was able to give life to one of his brooches, transforming it into an exact copy of one of his hands, before slicing off his hand that was wrapped with the Stand and sending it flying out of the plane's window.

Trish looked back to him and chuckled. "Well Giorno," She started, feeling her stand slowly appearing next to her "to beat a stand, one must have a stand, correct?" Trish finished, before fully manifesting her Stand right next to her.

Giorno laid in shock. "When did you fully manifest your Stand?" Giorno questioned, surprised.

"I'd estimate it to be around an hour after you became incapacitated." The Stand replied.

Giorno looked back at the stand as if it had three heads.

"D-Did you stand just talk?" Giorno replied, surprised at the fact that he stuttered.

The Stand spoke once again. "Yes, I did just talk. Thank you for pointing out the obvious." It replied.

Trish chucked, before adding "Also, her name is Spice Girl."

Giorno just nodded. "Well good for you." He replied, before summoning Gold Experience.

Spice Girl looked over at Gold Experience and waved, saying "Hey there." to which the other stand waved back, not saying a word.

"Is he not sentient?" Spice Girl asked.

Giorno shook his head. "I'm afraid not, sorry." Giorno replied.

"Damn, that's unfortunate." The stand muttered.

Giorno and Trish chuckled, before returning their stands. "Congratulations on manifesting your stand, Trish." Giorno said.

"Thanks, GioGio."

The two sat in silence yet again for a moment, before Giorno turned his head back to Trish. "GioGio, huh?" He asked.

Trish, realizing what she had said, defended herself as best she could.

"You know, your name is Giorno Giovanna. I figured I'd just have a nickname for you, and GioGio just kind of rolls off the tongue nicely." She said, before looking him in the eyes.

He pondered for a moment at the name. "Huh, GioGio does work. I guess that's my nickname now. Thanks for that Trish." Giorno said, smiling. Trish smiled in return.

Trish looked back down at the sand, slowly moving her boot through the sand, watching as her boot made a wide trench in the ground. She thought of the boot she lost back on the plane, and how lucky she was that she brought spare boots.

She returned her attention to Giorno and asked "If you don't mind me asking, why did you join the gang? We may be the same age, but you seem so much younger than everyone else in the gang."

Giorno chuckled, before saying "Well, I'm about two weeks off of 16, so there's that."

"As to why I joined the gang." Giorno took a deep breath before continuing "I had seen the corruption of the mafia in Napoli. Every corner seemed infected with the mafia, with violence and drugs lurking in every alley. I had joined the gang to try and put an end to that. I wanted to become the boss and end the corruption in Italy."

Trish turned to him and asked "So you joined Passione with the mindset to betray the boss from the start? Am I reading that correctly?"

Giorno looked at her shocked. "Um, maybe." Giorno said, shrugging, trying to play it off as a joke.

Trish chuckled and replied, saying "I don't blame you. The mafia seems like absolute hell. You've definitely got your mind set on your goals, and seem to have a crew willing to help."

Giorno looked at her and smiled. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He said.

Giorno observed Trish as she stared out into the sea, her pink hair being fluttered around by the soft breeze, and her green eyes reflecting the moonlight.

Trish looked back at Giorno, saying "I want to kill my father as much as you guys do."

She chuckled to herself, adding "Listen to me. I've never really met my father, and yet here we are listening to me talk about how much I want to kill him."

Giorno sighed and replied "I've never met my father either."

Trish looked at him, surprised. "You too, huh?" She asked.

"Never. My mother said that it was true love." Giorno humorlessly laughed.

"I guess true love doesn't stick around that long." He spat.

"My mom said the same thing about my father." Trish said.

Giorno sighed, reaching for his wallet.

"The only thing I have of his is an old photo." He said, before handing his opened wallet to Trish.

Inside the wallet was a shadowed picture of a man wearing no shirt with his back to the camera, his head slightly turned towards the camera, and a hand raised slightly above his shoulder. Trish looked at the picture and back at Giorno. The resemblance between the two was evident, even in only one photo.

"And before you ask, no that is not a tattoo. It's a birthmark." Giorno added, taking a sip of his water.

Trish looked confused, before looking back at the photo and seeing the star-shaped birthmark on the man's shoulder.

Trish turned back to Giorno and asked "So I assume you have one too?"

Giorno nodded, unzipping his shirt and showed his shoulder, revealing that he too had a birthmark like the man in the photo.

"So, does this guy have a name or something or is he just some nameless creep?" Trish asked bluntly as Giorno zipped up his shirt.

"My mother keeps on telling me his name is Dio." Giorno replied.

Trish asked, "As in the italian word for God?"

"Maybe. She met him in Egypt in the mid 80's. Supposedly he's British, but I'm not sure." Giorno said.

Trish thought to herself for a moment, before asking. "Wait, are you even Italian?"

Giorno chuckled. "By birth, no. If what my mother says is true, I'm British-Japanese."

Trish couldn't help but chuckle.

"Is something wrong?" Giorno questioned.

"There's nothing wrong with that. I just find it funny that someone who isn't even Italian by birth, wants to lead the Italian mafia." Trish stated.

Giorno smiled sightly, before saying "Well, I guess you're right."

"So, it seems like we're both the same age and don't know our father quite well." Trish said.

"Not only that, but it appears that we're both natural born stand users." Giorno added. The two of them shared pleasantries together as the night crawled on. They both agreed that this night felt like a relief to them, as it was the first night in a while that the gang wasn't under attack by some third party.

Once the two of them returned to the turtle, Giorno and Trish lay back down on their chairs, waving goodnight to each other, and immediately fell asleep. Giorno lay on the chair thinking about Trish, smiling to himself as he slumbered. It wasn't long after that, maybe twenty minutes or so, when he next stirred from his slumber, a small grin forming on his face. He opened his eyes to face the disturbance.

"Anything else I can help you with tonight, Trish?" Giorno asked, much to the silent surprise of Trish.

"How did you-" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Nevermind. I just have one more request of you, Giorno." Trish stated firmly.

"And that would be?" Giorno questioned, cocking an eyebrow to the pinkette.

Trish glanced away for a moment, seemingly embarrassed. Giorno swore he saw a faint blush on her face.

"When I was younger, my mom would keep me close whenever I was sad or any kind of bad mood. And I was wondering if you'd be willing to…" Trish trailed off, the blonde teen before her realizing her embarrassment from before.

His face began to head up itself. "This isn't just an excuse to sleep next to me, is it?" Giorno jested, much to the chagrin of Trish.

"N-No, that isn't it. I didn't mean it like that, I swear." Trish quietly protested, earning a small chuckle out of Giorno.

Wordlessly, the blonde scooched over to the right, and patted at the open spot. Trish obliged, sitting next to Giorno, getting comfortable with his presence next to her. The two of them fell asleep moments later, both pseudo-cuddling each other unknowingly.

At dawn, Mista was the first to awaken. He let out a resounding yawn, one he was surprised that he didn't wake anyone else up with. He got off the couch, allowing Narancia to flop back first onto the couch. Making his way to the fridge, Mista opened it up, grabbing a cola from withing, guzzling it down without a second thought. He stopped when half of it was left, observing the room before him. Narancia snoring sounded akin to that of a foghorn, blaring off in the night. Abbacchio laid with his arm crossed, like he was dreaming he was pissed at someone. Mista cast his gaze to Bucciarati, his capo seemingly quite relaxed in his sleep. Mista took another sip, looking over to the empty arm chair before him. He nearly spat out his drink when he was Giorno and Trish laying in the same arm chair. Mista looked around, seeing if anyone else was awake, but it seemed like he was the only one. At that notion, a big grin crawled onto Mista's face. His theories were becoming true, and the blue-capped teen couldn't be any happier.

He took a moment to calm himself down, before making his way to the two sleeping teens. Mista nudged Giorno awake, the blonde teen groaning slightly.

"Fiv… mor… minut…" Giorno murmured, still half asleep.

Mista snorted, leaning in closer. "Five more minutes, and everyone'll think you 'n Trish are a thing." He teased to his friend.

Those words slapped some sense of reality into the blonde. His eyes shot open, observing his surroundings. Trish laying curled up next to him, still passed out, and Mista's watchful gaze over them. Luckily, everyone else was asleep, Giorno not wanting anyone else to see. He slowly and methodically stood up, trying his best to avoid waking the pinkette. Giorno slithered out, and stood next to Mista, the older teen looking at him with a smug smirk.

"It isn't like that, Mista." Giorno affirmed his friend. "She just wanted someone to sleep next to." He explained.

Mista said nothing, continuing to eye down Giorno, his smirk growing by the second.

"Was that really it?" Mista raised his eyebrows up and down in a knowing manner.

"Damnit Mista, cut that out." Giorno huffed, crossing his arms and turning away from Mista.

A tap on his shoulder a moment later brought his attention back to Mista. The blue-capped teen zipped the imaginary zipper across his lips and tossed the zipper to the side. Giorno gave a nod as a wordless 'thank you' to Mista.

A resounding yawn brought their attention towards Narancia, who finally stirred awake. The boy grumbled to himself, glancing towards the clock, reading the time to be around a quarter after seven. Slowly, but surely, everyone else awoke from within the turtle, as Bucciarati gave an announcement.

"Attention, everyone! We will be making our way to the opposite end of the island starting today. We will spend the entire journey from within the turtle's key. We will only step out when absolutely necessary. Trish, I assume you have the photo of where we need to go?" Bucciarati directed his question to the pinkette, who nodded, reaching into her boot and pulling out a photo from within. The photo, which was taken by the boss himself, depicted Trish's mother looking out over the beach front. If they could use Moody Blues to go back in time to that exact date, then they would find out the boss' identity. With that, Trish passed the photo onto Bucciarati, the older man taking a passing glance as he shoved it into his back pocket.

"It will be around a three days trip to get there. For now, try your best to relax. Still stay on guard for any enemies. That is all." Bucciarati said, dismissing everyone else to do whatever they wanted to within the turtle.

* * *

On the first night, Giorno had told Trish what had happened that morning and the two laid back in their separate chairs, not trying to get caught by Mista at dawn.

On the second night, the two seemed to not care, both returning to their previous positions two nights ago. This time, Trish awoke to the smug smirk of Mista.

On the third day, the gang finally arrived at the beachfront, ready to proceed with their plan.

* * *

Trish sat in the turtle, as she was told to. She idly sang to herself, practicing for her next audition, whenever that would happen. She hadn't heard anything from anyone within the past hour or so, the rest of the team already on stakeout. She could feel her father's presence nearby, but she was forbidden from leaving the turtle until the mission was complete. Then, without warning, Giorno entered the turtle, his face contorted in a hidden sorrow.

"Giorno, what happened?" Trish asked, standing up next to the blonde.

Giorno stuttered out his answer. "Abb… Abbacchio, he's…" He couldn't finish, the pain far too apparent.

Trish's eyes widened, as she gasped. "H-How? What happened out there?" She questioned, hoping to get a straight answer out of Giorno.

"We g-got distracted. We left Abbacchio out in the open. He got a hole ripped straight though his gut. Most likely dead upon impact." Giorno stated, murmuring something else under his breath. Trish heard it as "I failed them."

Trish pulled Giorno into a hug. "Giorno, it wasn't your fault. If anyone's to blame, it's my father." She consoled the teen, keeping him close to her.

They broke the hug a moment later, the two of them idly stood in the middle of the turtle's room. Giorno was focused looking on the outside of the turtle, giving Trish a clear view of his eyes. For the second time, they flash a brilliant gold, even brighter than last time.

"I will keep them all alive, no matter what." Giorno muttered to himself.

Trish nearly questioned what Giorno meant by that, but Bucciarati entered the turtle a moment later, quickly handing her off a head sculpture. She felt some sort of connection to the sculpture. There was no mistaking it; this head was a model of her father's head. So for Trish, that would have to be a question for another day. Along with 'Do your eyes glow gold when you're sad?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me be the first to say, Happy New Years everyone. Hope you're all doing well. I know it's been a bit since I last updated this fic, but I've been dragging my heels as of late. I apologize for that. And look at that, a callback to GioGio: Part 2. Now we can see what lead up to that scene in my first fic, as well as where we go from here.


	8. The Lies We Tell To Protect Us (Green Day)

Getting to Roma was one of their greatest challenges yet, aside from the immortal all consuming flesh demon that was Notorious B.I.G. At the digression of a nameless aid, the gang made their way to Roma, with information about the boss, as well as his name; Diavolo. When they were to arrive, their ally would give them their chance to defeat Diavolo. When the gang arrived at a village outside to the big city, they were jumped by yet another stand duo. One who spread a mold and caused anyone who fell below it to disintegrate into nothingness. The gang barely escaped, with only minor wounds thanks to Giorno’s healing. Now, in the car, Giorno sat in the back with Mista, tending to the older teen’s wounds. Trish sat in the passenger seat, keeping an eye on Narancia. As for Bucciarati, he kept his eyes on the road ahead of them, cautiously driving, making sure that they didn’t take any roads down.

Mista was the first to break the silence. “Ya had me fooled for a sec’ back there. I actually thought you’d plunged to your own death.”

“You used Sticky Fingers to cling onto the wall, right?” Mista rasped, his body still not fully recovered from the assault. All eyes were on Bucciarati, but he said not a word to anyone.

“It must’ve been close, ya didn’t get an ounce of mold on ya.” Mista persisted, sitting up right in the backseat.

“Mista, please take a nap. I healed the wounds, but they may open up again if you get injured.” Giorno stated to the blue-capped teen.

“I can keep an eye on any cars that may pass by. Just get some rest.” He added, seeing Mista lean his head against the window, muttering a ‘yeah’ under his breath.

The drive continued for a few minutes in dead silence. Narancia was peacefully passed out in the turtle, with Trish’s watchful gaze above the teen. Trish’s gaze adverted from Narancia to Bucciarati, who hadn’t said a word since they had gotten in the car. Trish looked down at Bucciarati’s hand, seeing an alarming amount of blood and a gash along the arm.

“Jesus, Bucciarati. That hand looks pretty bad. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Trish questioned, earning Giorno’s attention.

“I can heal that up in a second, let me take a look.” Giorno offered, but Bucciarati said not a word. The two awake teens shared a glance, both eyeing the other with worry.

“Bucciarati, you may get an infection from the mold. Let Giorno heal you. It’ll only take a moment.” Trish continued, but no reaction from Bucciarati.

“Are you even listening, Bucciarati?” Giorno questioned, as Bucciarati reached over for the stick, revealing that the wound was much worse than either of the teens had anticipated. Bones stuck out from the wound, but none of the blood had flowed out. It just stayed as a glistening red spot. 

“Bucciarati, what are you-” Giorno reached forward, cut off by a bump in the road. His hand flew into Bucciarati’s neck, as the blonde gasped in horror. 

There was no pulse.

Trish’s eyes widened in alarm, realizing what had happened. She didn’t want to believe it. Trish didn’t want anyone else to die for her. She had thought that Bucciarati had lived due to Giorno’s actions, but that didn’t happen.

“His skin’s so cold, and his pulse… it…” Giorno exclaimed, as Bucciarati seemed to finally react. Bucciarati looked to his left, meeting Trish’s gaze, then turned around and glanced at Giorno.

“Giorno, Trish. What’s wrong? You both seem a little perturbed. Did either of you say something?” Bucciarati questioned, like there was nothing out of the ordinary here.

Giorno and Trish’s gazes met each other again.

“So, it wasn’t just my imagination.” Giorno muttered.

“It’s just like what had happened back at San Giorgio.” Trish hated the words that tumbled out of her mouth, but there was no denying what had happened.

“I’d just written it off as nothing back in Venezia, but-” Giorno choked back a sob, much to the surprise of Trish.

“I’d seen the same thing back on the plane to Sargenia. A giant gash in his leg with no blood.” Trish added, unintentionally adding to Giorno’s fear.

“I do suppose I was careless.” Bucciarati said, as the two teens looked back at their capo. He was looking down at his wound like it was a watch. He seemed calm, almost at peace with himself.

“But… perhaps I realized this just a second too late. I’m quickly losing all feeling.” He paused, almost as if in thought.

“No. I’d lost my sense of touch quite a while ago.”

“So you’re…” Trish trailed off, not wanting to finish her statement.

“But then that means…” Giorno paused, allowing for his brain to catch up with his thought process.

“So, when you saved me from Diavolo back at San Giorgio, then…” Trish gasped to herself, unable to accept that truth.

“Bucciarati, you can’t be saying that you’re-” The blonde choked back another sob, like he was on the verge of a breakdown. Unseen by everyone except Trish, Giorno’s eyes faintly faded to a gold, before returning to green a moment later.

“It’s strange. I’d already come to accept this destiny. I’d thought of it as a little gift, handed down to me from heaven above.” Bucciarati stated, as his gaze averted upwards.

“The life force you gave my wounded body could not save me, even though I am certain that you intended it to. Unfortunately, all that it has done is delay the inevitable.” He continued, much to the horror of the two teens.

“But, why? Why did you keep this from us?” Giorno questioned, the fear hanging in his voice.

“Gold Experience could heal all of your wounds perfectly back then. I know that it can do it again. There’s no reason that it can’t fix whatever’s wrong with you.” He pleaded, but Bucciarati remained firm.

“Giorno, I know this is hard. But even your Gold Experience understands this truth. Much better than anyone else I’d expect. Nothing can free a person from deaths stubborn grasp. By the time you’d reached me, it was too late. Death has me now.” Bucciarati consoled Giorno.

Trish was in awe. How could someone be so laissez faire about their own life? Giorno seemed to be wondering the same thing, staring forward at Bucciarati in shock.

“I trust you both will keep this matter betw-” Bucciarati’s voice faded as Trish entered the turtle. She couldn’t deal with it.

Trish plopped herself on the couch, trying to calm herself down. How could Bucciarati do this to her? To both her and Giorno? He never said a word, never pulled either of them to the side to talk to them. Trish wanted nothing more than to scream at Bucciarati for his actions. But she did nothing. She felt powerless. Trish hugged her knees close and sobbed into her legs. A slow hum faded in as she heard the familiar tune pop into her head, as she felt a pair of arms hold her close.

_Please don’t cry, my dear_

_Just let me hold you near_

_All your anger and sorrow, let it flow_

_Let it all drain way down low_

_You needn’t feel any sorrow_

_For you shall be alright tomorrow_

_So, don’t you ever worry anymore_

_Your ship will always find it’s shore_

_No matter the family you find_

_Just remember, I am yours and you are mine._

Trish glanced up, looking her stand in her vibrant green pupils. It momentarily distracted her, which it seems was Spice Girl’s plan all along.

“Just let me mope, Spice.” Trish murmured, curling herself tighter.

Spice Girl released her grip on Trish and sighed. “At least it got you out of moping for a moment, didn’t it?” She questioned in an authoritative tone.

Trish looked back at Spice Girl for a moment. “I… suppose so.” She said at last, letting her legs drop back to the floor, sitting on the couch like a normal person.

Spice Girl hovered for a moment, glancing over to Narancia. “It’s surprising with all of the commotion outside that he hasn’t even woken up.” She said aloud, hinting something to her user.

Trish cocked an eyebrow, glancing up to look outside. She was shocked to see Mista’s bloodied face.

“W-What the hell happened out there?” Trish questioned in horror.

“The mold guy followed us in a fucking chopper is what happened. And now it’s just Giorno and Number Five trying to take this guy down.” Spice Girl explained, keeping a watchful gaze on the outside.

Trish then noticed an arm around Mista’s throat, and nearly gasped. Quickly thinking, she rushed out of the turtle, ready to soften the grip of the arm. As she exited, no one seemed to notice her. Trish looked to her left, seeing Giorno and the mold guy yet again, an alarming amount of blood pouring out like a fountain out of his skull.

“Giorno, let me-” Trish tried to speak up, but was drowned out by Giorno.

“-wanted to be certain that you were completely neutralized first. Meaning I had to finish you off, whether or not I could still hear a heartbeat.” Giorno stated, his face contorted in anger. Trish and Spice Girl just watched the events unfold before them.

“B-But you said… th-that if I stayed still… y-you wouldn’t do anything…” The mold guy whimpered, clutching his head in agony.

“Oh, please.” Giorno scoffed.

“Did you really think you’d be that lucky?” He paused, his glare hardening.

“A piece of shit like you!?” Giorno roared, clenching his fists hard.

The mold guy gasped. “You sick bastard!” He roared, lunging straight for Giorno. All at once, Giorno summoned Gold Experience, launching him right at the mold guy. With the glint in Giorno’s eye, it told Trish one thing; this guy was as good as dead.

**_MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA!_ **

****

Gold Experience roared, giving Giorno’s frustration voice, as he punched the mold guy’s body upward, knocking out a wallet towards Trish and Spice Girl.

“Oh, what’s this?” Trish questioned, opening up the wallet

****

**_MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA!_ **

****

Gold Experience’s fists drilled into the mold guy’s body, his body lifelessly flopping around.

“So, that guy’s name is Cioccolata. Interesting.” Trish murmured, looking back up at the beatdown before her.

****

**_MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA!_ **

****

Cioccolata looked like he was having a blast, his body practically limp and lifeless, yet Gold Experience kept on going.

“You have any idea when he’s gonna stop?” Spice Girl asked.

****

**_MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA!_ **

****

Giorno clutched his left arm close, but still his stand moved on, fueled by pure rage.

“How the hell am I supposed to know? GioGio looks ready to throw down at the Denny’s 3AM mosh pit.” Trish murmured, earning a snicker out of her stand.

“You’ve been to one?” Spice Girl questioned, with Trish giving a half-hearted shrug.

“I’ve heard the stories, Spice. Americans are just built different.” Trish replied, looking back at Giorno.

****

**_WRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!_ **

****

Both Trish and Spice Girl were taken aback by the new cry.

“That’s…” Spice Girl trailed off; her eyes wide.

“…A new one.” Trish finished, standing in awe.

****

**_MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA!_ **

****

Now, Cioccolata’s body was being punched into the ground, yet he still maintained being in the air.

“How does he do it?” Spice Girl questioned, like a commentator at a sporting event.

“Is now really the time for that Spice?” Trish questioned, as her stand giggled with a mischievous grin.

****

**_MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA!_ **

****

Cioccolata’s cries for help fell upon deaf ears, as a new figure approached Trish and Spice Girl.

“Geez. Giorno’s gonna kill that guy at this rate.” Number Five murmured, flying in close next to Spice Girl, landing on her outstretched left palm.

“Isn’t that the point?” Spice Girl questioned, looking down at the minute stand.

“I guess so.” Number Five muttered.

**MUDA!**

And with the final blow, Giorno’s stand sent Cioccolata flying off the roof, landing in a garbage truck far below. Giorno recalled his stand and looked over the edge, sighing with relief.

“And with a landing like that, Giorno scores a perfect ten!” Spice Girl called in her announcer voice, pumping her right fist into the air.

Giorno glanced back to see Trish and Spice Girl, much to his surpise.

“Uh, how long have you two been there?” He asked, still gasping for air after screeching for a solid period of time.

“When you were talking about finishing Cioccolata off.” Trish stated. 

“So, for about a minute?” Giorno questioned, Trish confirming with a single nod.

“Did either of you think about jumping in and helping?” Giorno asked, not in any sort of anger, but more of an exhausted tone.

“C’mon Giorno, you looked like you were having fun sending that guy into the forever box.” Spice Girl jested to the blonde teen.

Both Trish and Giorno looked at her with confusion in their eyes. “The what now?” Both of them questioned.

Spice Girl rolled her eyes. “Y’know. A coffin.” She clarified, as both teens muttered an ‘ah’ under their breaths.

Spice Girl felt the weight in her palm float away, as she glanced down to the blue-capped teen regaining consciousness. She figured Number Five went to check on his user. Spice Girl thought the sentiment was sweet.

“Well, we should probably get a move on. Up an at ‘em, Mista.” Spice Girl encouraged, as both Giorno and Trish nodded to her. Slowly, but surely, Mista awoke from his dulcet slumber atop the roof. Spice Girl gave one last look at the two teens, before returning to her user.

Giorno, taking his time to heal up his wounds, before treating Mista, left Trish to her own devices. She looked towards the colosseum, with hopes that the gang would obtain the item they were after from their confidant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. The 7 Page Muda is here. And I spent a half hour counting out each individual muda uttered during the anime. Also, also. I might go to a bi-weekly schedule for uploads after this week. If I do upload weekly, then I do. Like I said in last chapter, I've been dragging my heels writing this, so I hope you understand if the upload schedule changes. Best wishes, and take care.


	9. Freaky Friday (Chariot Requiem)

When Trish first awoke in the colosseum, she attempted to collect her thoughts. The last thing she remembered before being knocked out was her, Giorno, and Mista finding Bucciarati. She could feel Diavolo’s presence nearby, but it was faint. And then she passed out, waking up to face herself. Trish blinked as her and her body screamed at each other. It took five minutes of figuring out who was who, before the gang attempted to figure out what had caused this in the first place. To their surprise, Coco Jumbo was on the move, and talking. The turtle, who now had the soul of the man the gang was supposed to meet, Jean Pierre Polnareff, explained to the gang that his stand, Silver Chariot, had caused this mess. He also mentioned something about a greater power, the Requiem arrow, which seemed to be the thing that caused this mess, and the thing that would save them.

Narancia, who was now in Giorno’s body, spotted an unidentified man sprinting straight into the colosseum. Giorno, in Narancia’s body, and Trish, who was in Mista’s body, stood behind the wall, stands drawn at the ready. Trish leaned out to get a look at the man entering. Long pink hair with green spots all around, wearing… fishnets as a shirt. At least his pants and shoes were normal. Trish looked back at Mista, who was in her body, quietly comparing the two. Without a doubt, this was her father. Or at least, her father’s body. When Polnareff pointed out his evolved stand, Chariot Requiem, she watched as Sticky Fingers manifested for ‘Diavolo’. She sighed with relief over the fact that Bucciarati was still with them, not yet dead. After a short encounter with the Requiem stand, and a realization that any attack done to Chariot Requiem would result in the attacker to get assaulted with their own stand, the gang took a few minutes to figure out their next plan of attack. 

Narancia, seemingly out of the blue, exclaimed that he’d protect her until his dying breath. Trish, having watched a few shows in her life, felt something wrong was about to happen. Mista turned to Trish, asking for the bullets in her boots, as the teen obliged, handing roughly 20 bullets to the man in her body. But mid pass, time jumped. A realization from Trish, as she watched some of the bullets that she pulled out roll on the ground; four of them to be exact. Mista shouted at her to drop another bullet, his fears coming back in full force. With this realization, everyone was on guard. Trish cursed to herself, wondering how she couldn’t even sense Diavolo. She couldn’t even feel his presence, so how did time skip if he wasn’t around? These thoughts were broken by Giorno’s question.

“Trish, you said that you couldn’t feel the boss’ presence when we woke up, right?” Giorno questioned, as Trish nodded.

“Yeah. And I can’t sense his presence now either.” Trish stated, Giorno and Polnareff nodding.

“But this isn’t making any sense. You swapped with Narancia, and Trish swapped with Mista. Thus, Bucciarati swapped with Diavolo. It’s the only way. Nothing else would make sense.” Polnareff cried.

“But no other explanation as to how time just jumped. Diavolo’s soul has to be somewhere else.” Giorno said, frustration present in his voice.

“Narancia, how does our perimeter look? Is anyone coming?” Bucciarati questioned, looking back to where Narancia should be. The boy was absent, it would seem.

“Narancia?” Bucciarati called, looking slightly to his left, a small gasp escaping. 

Blood flowed down the pillar, landing right on Giorno’s brooch. With that, the rest of the gang’s eyes averted upwards, to a horrific sight. Giorno’s body practically skewered by the metal bars. The next few minutes blurred for Trish. Between Narancia’s death, and the realization that Diavolo shared a body with another soul, Trish felt like she was having a bad dream, and she’d wake up back in the colosseum unharmed, and all would be right. Instead, Narancia was dead, and Diavolo had them where he wanted. Trish turned back to the scene before her. Giorno’s soul had already slipped back into his body, but the tears were still rolling down his cheeks. Trish had sworn it was the first time she’d seen Giorno fully breakdown like this. Trish wiped away the tears from her eyes, watching Bucciarati bite back his emotions and Mista wailing.

Bucciarati, who seemed to partially agree with Polnareff’s theory, being that Diavolo and the other soul were in separate bodies, still has his doubts.

“Narancia was killed because he was our radar. He wanted to cripple us, and he has.” Trish seemed to notice when Bucciarati was upset by something, his response would be to become harsher around everyone else. And right now, she could tell that Bucciarati was hurting bad. And his words stung Giorno the harshest. Narancia had died for nothing. When Abbacchio died, he had obtained the boss’ face. When Bucciarati was gravely injured at San Giorgio, he used all of his strength to save Trish. Narancia, on the other hand, obtained nothing from death.

“Let’s move, everyone.” Bucciarati called, already walking out. Mista followed close behind, gun at the ready. 

Trish lagged behind, watching as Giorno began to cover up Narancia’s body with flowers. For a moment, Giorno’s eyes flashed their brilliant gold once more, brighter than the last time.

“I’m sorry I failed you, Narancia.” Giorno muttered, wiping his eyes, as they returned to their vivid green. Giorno stood up and picked up Polnareff, as him and Trish followed after Bucciarati and Mista.

Once more, the next couple of minutes rushed past Trish like a bullet. She’d felt something off at the colosseum, like she was being watched. But Trish pressed on, following the rest of the gang close. As the team was catching up with Chariot Requiem, they abruptly stopped, when Giorno realized that the boss could be within one of them. Giorno knew that his stand could detect an extra soul in a person, and wanted to test his theory on the team. Mista attempted to call Giorno out on his theory, but was dismissed by Bucciarati, who agreed to get tested. All went well, until the next time skip. From there, all hell broke loose. Diavolo had been hiding in Trish’s body with Mista. Trish summoned Spice Girl, but that allowed for Diavolo to have a bridge between him and Trish. His soul jumped, inhabiting Mista’s body, and Trish’s mind went blank for the next few minutes.

* * *

When Trish opened her eyes next, she felt ethereal. Slowly awakening from her slumber, she looked down, watching the earth below her get further and further away. From Giorno’s perspective, it was utterly terrifying. Trish and Spice Girl rose above the earth, flying further and further away. If Trish had been fully asleep through the whole thing, maybe it would’ve been better for Giorno. Instead, he had to watch the pinkette soar above the heavens.

“Shit, someone help me!” Trish cried.

“Bucciarati, help me!” She shouted.

“Mista, HELP ME!” She screamed.

“GIORNO, SAVE ME!” Trish shrieked.

Each word sunk Giorno to the ground, the teen feeling his world come apart at the seams. The one job they were tasked with they had failed; to protect Trish. Giorno wanted to cry, but nothing came out. He looked up, watching the events unfurl before him. Bucciarati and Diavolo figured out Chariot Requiems ability, and how to destroy it. Diavolo partially destroyed it, to obtain the arrow. Bucciarati fully destroyed it to send everyone back to their bodies. With the destruction of Chariot Requiem, the entirety of Roma returned to their original bodies. Giorno’s eyes averted upwards, watching Trish’s soul descend from the heavens. All at once, Trish’s soul landed in her own body, with Mista following soon after, his body flying through the air for a moment, both Trish and Giorno catching his body.

“Guess who’s back? Thanks for that, Bucciarati.” Mista smirked, a prideful grin on his face, even with the blood flowing out from his mouth.

“Let’s never do that again, ok? Can’t have ya dyin’ on us twice now, eh Trish?” Mista jested, coughing up a fair amount of blood on the pavement.

“Hey, Giorno. A little help here?” He requested to the blonde, Giorno seemingly shellshocked.

“I know you’re worried about Bucciarati, but he’ll be back here before you know it… right?” Mista chuckled, earning a wince from both teens. 

Before anyone else could say anything, the blue-capped teen passed out in Giorno and Trish’s arms. They laid him down onto the pavement softly, both of them rising to full height. They looked upwards, watching the clouds form into their fallen comrade.

“Now then, Giorno. It’s on you.” Bucciarati’s voice rang out, with his body appearing as if in a cloud.

“B-Bucciarati? You’re… the body that we… back at the colosseum… I-I don’t know if it’s…” Giorno choked back his tears, but it was increasingly difficult as time passed.

“Giorno, Trish. Thank you, for all that you both have done.” Bucciarati’s ethereal voice echoed overhead, both teens staring up in disbelief.

Bucciarati’s gaze turned to Giorno. “When we met for the first time, back in Napoli. When we joined forces against the Famiglia. Although my body became marked for fate by death’s hands, my soul was reborn. You had revived my faith, Giorno.” Bucciarati assured Giorno, the blonde teen still unsure of what to say. The clouds dispersed, with the sun’s blazing gaze staring down upon the earth. Bucciarati’s body began to ascend higher, towards the light.

“Thank you for showing me true happiness. I’ll be fine, no need to worry about me.” Bucciarati turned back, looking down to the two teens.

“Give everyone my regards. Protect Trish and keep her safe. It’s on you now, Giorno.” With Bucciarati’s final words, Giorno reached up, as the golden clouds above enveloped his hand. Bucciarati’s soul rose higher above, until all at once, the clouds dispersed, and Bucciarati was gone. In his place, clutched in Giorno’s hand, was the Requiem Arrow. Giorno’s face contorted in anger, his eyes flashed their brilliant gold, as he felt himself begin to pass out.

“Giorno!” Trish cried, rushing over to catch Giorno. His body landed in her arms, as she felt the overwhelming urge to sleep rush over her. She obliged, but it wasn’t like she had a choice in the matter. Trish only hoped that she wouldn’t be passed out for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload. It's still Friday where I am, so technically, I'm uploading on time.


	10. I don't want to lose you too (G.E.R.)

For Trish, it was easy to say that this entire week was painful. But the worst of it was the last hour or so. The problems began when she woke up from the stand induced sleep. She watched as her father attempted to attain the arrow from Giorno, who plunged it right into Gold Experience's chest. All at once, things seemed to crumble apart. The arrow created a gash in Giorno's chest, as it along with the stand user, clattered to the ground. Diavolo, maniacally laughing at Giorno, encroached upon the blonde, circling the teen clutching at his wound. Diavolo taunted Giorno, saying that he was glad that he approached, instead of fleeing. King Crimson manifested next to the pink haired mafia boss, readying it's fist. Giorno glared up towards Diavolo, scowling towards the boss.

"Time to die like the weakling you are!" Diavolo bellowed, his demonic smile showing through.

"Don't just sit there Giorno! Run!" Mista cried, blood dripping from his mouth.

"Begone, retched dog!" Diavolo roared, launching King Crimson's fist to Giorno.

All at once, everything fell apart. Gold Experience took the brunt of the attack, but it couldn't save Giorno. The force of the assault was enough to shatter a human skull. And since any damage inflicted upon a stand is also inflicted upon it's user, Giorno crumpled to the ground.

"To be slain by a king. A final gift for you!"

Diavolo's shouts of victory were lost on Trish. She had just watched her father murder her closest friend. The one who she bonded with was now falling to the ground. But something else caught her attention; a new eye from beneath Gold Experience's shattered surface. She pointed it out to Mista, who was freaking out like her. That eye was a sign that Giorno was still alive, and that's all she wanted. Diavolo realized this too, standing with fear as the three watched the requiem arrow snake up Gold Experience's arm and pierce through the wrist. The arrow seemed to flow through Gold Experience's arm like it was swimming up a river. Diavolo launched King Crimson, unleashing a barrage of punches upon Gold Experience. The assault did little to the stand. In fact, all it did was remove the shell of the old Gold Experience. Trish could see it, but Diavolo didn't. She watched Giorno rise from the ground, glaring down upon the mafia boss, with an entirely new stand. The stand looked like Gold Experience, with ladybugs on its hands and oblong grooves across its body. Its head extended into pointed tips with the back of the head hollow, looking like a blooming flower. A motif of the requiem arrow was laid upon it's forehead.

Diavolo looked up from the crumpled husk of the original Gold Experience to the newly birthed Gold Experience Requiem. A quick exchange of words between Giorno and Diavolo, as Diavolo's hair flicked forward. The mob boss watched and waited, a wry smirk forming on his face as he called out in a victorious tone. Giorno made his descent to the earth's surface, as Diavolo called for King Crimson's ability. She heard five gunshots go off next to her, waiting for the shots to connect with Diavolo.

But they never came.

In fact, the event never occurred. It was like a bad cut in a movie. One moment, Diavolo was ranting on about how Giorno would die then and there, with King Crimson at the ready, and the next, he stood alone, baffled and confused. He finally summoned King Crimson, looking at the premonition before him, which Trish guessed was Giorno's death. In a second, Gold Experience Requiem launched it's assault upon Diavolo and King Crimson.

**_"MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA!"_** Gold Experience Requiem roared, the force of his fists cracking King Crimson's skull and knocking off the small head atop the other stand.

With one final earsplitting **_MUDA_** , Diavolo was sent soaring through the air, landing in the Tevere river below. Trish and Mista finally stood up after they heard the splash Diavolo made.

"Damn, he actually did it." Mista cheered, rushing over to Giorno's side.

"You and that arrow kicked major ass, Giorno." Mista complimented, clutching his chest. Trish approached, peering over the side into the river below.

"It still beats the hell outta me what Gold Experience whatchamacallit's actual powers are, but none of that matters since that bastard's dead now." He continued, as Giorno eyed him cautiously.

Trish could still feel her father's signature, a small gasp escaping momentarily. "No, not yet Mista. I can't see his body and I can still feel his presence." Trish explained, as Mista too looked over into the river.

"How the hell'd he manage to get away?" Trish cried, her gaze focusing on the blonde next to her.

"Damnit Giorno, help us look! Which way did he go?" Trish shouted to the blonde, as she frantically clenched her fist in fear.

"I-I can still feel traces of him, so help us-"

"Trish, please. Take a breath. It's okay." Giorno said, his gaze still upon the Tevere below them.

"H-Huh?" Trish stood bewildered, as did Mista. Both teens looked towards Giorno, waiting for an answer.

"There's nothing to look for anymore." Giorno stated, manifesting Gold Experience Requiem to his side.

"He will never be back. Even though I never witnessed Requiem's power myself, something deep within my soul tells me my- our job is done. Nothing will ever come within his putrid reach again. Not even the truth of his ultimate fate will grace him. His own death'll remain a mystery to him for all eternity. It's over"

For the life of her, Trish couldn't follow Giorno's logic. She could still feel Diavolo's presence.

"But we didn't finish him." Trish explained, as she tried to drill her point home to Giorno.

"His end is without an end." Giorno paused, glancing up to Trish and Mista.

"That… is Gold Experience Requiem's ability." His gaze pierced right through Trish's soul.

Mista sighed. "So, that's it then, eh?" The blue capped teen chuckled.

"I… guess it is." Trish rubbed the back of her head, sighing.

A clatter broke the momentary silence. The trio turned to the source, seeing the Requiem arrow at Giorno's feet. He bent down, picking it up and carefully eyeing it over. No damage whatsoever. He slid the arrow into his back pocket, as a slapping sound disrupted them once again.

"Oh, shit! Bucciarati's still at the colosseum. You still gotta heal him." Mista's words sunk like a knife into the two teens skin.

"C'mon. Lets get him and get the hell outta here." Mista gestured, breaking out into a sprint towards the colosseum. Trish didn't leave Giorno's side. He was still overlooking the water.

"Hey guys, are ya gonna…" Mista trailed off, gesturing to the road before them.

"We'll catch up with you in a minute, Mista." Trish said, glancing back to the capped teen.

Mista simply nodded and, instead of sprinting, casually walked towards the colosseum, leaving the two teens alone.

"Giorno?" Trish whispered. If Giorno heard her, he didn't respond.

"If you want to talk about it, just know I'm willing to lend an ear, ok?" She murmured, laying her hand on Giorno's shoulder in support.

A single nod gave Trish her answer. A small 'thanks' from Trish, and she was off following Mista. On the way there, they found Polnareff, who'd been left behind when Giorno gave chase to Diavolo. A small exchange between Giorno, Trish, and Polnareff confirmed that they all knew Bucciarati was dead. Trish left that discussion alone, opting to stick with Mista. She hoped that once they arrived at the colosseum, that Mista'd take the news easily.

* * *

"H-Hey – Bucciarati...?"

Mista addressed him in a shaky voice, but the man lying on the pavement gave no response. Though his eyelids were open, his eyes no longer saw anything. Bucciarati was very clearly dead. They could still hear some commotion nearby, the chaos that the fight had caused throughout the whole city still in the process of settling. Only this area seemed to be cut off from the confusion, a strange silence falling...

"W-What the hell, Bucciarati – are you messing around? C'mon, that's enough!" Mista shook his body, but there was no response.

Trish was stunned, seeing Mista in this state. It seemed like he was going through the denial step now.

Just as she had that thought, an awful cracking sound echoed in the vicinity. It was the sound of bones crumbling in the body that Mista was shaking. He instinctively pulled back with a start, but even if the bones were broken the body couldn't have said anything about it.

Finally, Giorno holding Polnareff close to his chest, opened his mouth.

"That's enough, Mista. He's been dead for a long time. He isn't coming back."

The quiet voice resonated heavily around them.

"He's not...?" Mista turned toward the teen, who nodded.

"You must have already realized it too – Bucciarati originally died back when we first ran into Diavolo. He had been working with a dead body up until now. Maybe it was because of this power, maybe his determination caused a miracle. I can't say for certain, but – Bucciarati fought while knowing he couldn't save himself, that it was too late. He can't come back."

Matter-of-fact, logical: these were words that left no room for any doubt. Trish gaped at Giorno's insensitivity. What changed from earlier this week to now?

" –!"

Mista moved in a flash. Kicking the ground, he put distance between them, jumped into an opportune position – and held up his gun, aiming at his target. Right in the middle of Giorno's forehead.

Even with the barrel of the gun directed at him, Giorno appeared completely calm. He just stood there, without even letting go of the turtle he was holding in his hand.

"What the hell is this?" Mista asked the boy in a shaking voice.

Again, Giorno just said quietly, "You should realize it now, then. There's nothing to wonder about."

"Don't fuck with me!" Mista yelled, scowling at him. "Explain, damnit! Give me a damn good explanation!"

The boy didn't reply, however, simply staring back at Mista silently. An increasingly intense aura simmered between them. The mood was hot like a flame and cold like water at the same time.

"U-uh...?"

Trish hadn't moved during all the hostility. Mista glanced over to Bucciarati's corpse, a small tear crawling down his face. He waited for something, anything to happen. But his body stayed still as Mista continued pointing the barrel of his gun at the boy, ready to kill.

"You mean you knew everything this whole damn time? Encouraging Bucciarati, letting him betray the boss..."

Trish interjected. "Mista, Bucciarati told us not to-"

Giorno responded to Mista's trembling voice with a crystal-clear declaration:

"That's right."

The wrinkles in Mista's forehead were etched so deeply that they could have been carved right out.

"And you already know – I was the one leading, but this was what Bucciarati wanted and decided on his own. He hoped that someone would give him a push; I was only helping him. You know that Bucciarati wasn't the sort of man to let other people force him or to waver in his convictions."

Giorno didn't falter at all. Mista's entire body was shaking and trembling, but, with a habit that was deeply instilled in him, his pistol didn't move an inch. No matter how shaken he was, he was a formidable gunman who always kept his aim.

"You...who the fuck do you think you are?!" Mista shouted.

Staring directly into Mista's eyes, Giorno flatly said,

"I, Giorno Giovanna, have a dream."

His catchphrase, words that Mista had heard often.

"Right now, you have two paths," he said, as if admonishing him. Then, suddenly, he asked, "Mista, you hate the number 'four' – right?"

"Yeah? What about it?"

At Mista's puzzled frown, Giorno continued, "Right now – if you shoot me, that will make me the fourth one. Would you be okay with that?"

The corner of Mista's mouth began to twitch. He understood what the boy was saying. Their teammates – the ones who had been sacrificed. Three of them were already dead. If Giorno was killed here, then that would indeed be the 'fourth sacrifice'. Trish watched with disgust. Giorno was using Mista's own fear against him. Just what the hell was he doing?

"Th-that...that's..."

Mista broke out into a cold sweat, his back teeth beginning to chatter.

"That's – that's just a stretch, really...!" Mista forced himself to yell.

The boy nodded.

"You're absolutely right. You have your obsession, Mista, but it doesn't matter to me. You're the only one who will have a problem with it. It's up to you to decide."

"Uh..."

"Right now, you have two paths you can choose... One is to take down the despicable person who caused your teammates' deaths, to settle everything so far. That in itself should be meaningful. In addition, you would end up freeing yourself from the uneasy life of this 'fourth' curse that you're bound by."

"..."

"And the other one – the path where you keep living with this obsession. This obsession of yours is important, and this way of thinking means that you won't pull the trigger at this very moment. If you choose the life where you continue to avoid the 'fourth' from now on, when you find yourself in that position, I won't hesitate to choose that 'fourth' in your place. That is one of my 'responsibilities'."

"What –"

Mista's throat made a strange gulping noise. He swallowed.

"What are you...going to do now?"

"You already know that, too."

For a moment Mista looked furious at the boy's words, holding his pistol at the ready again, and

– he pulled the trigger.

...!

Trish instinctively closed her eyes and covered her ears.

The echo of the gunshots faded into the vast space of the coliseum – everything was dead silent.

Trish nervously opened her eyes, and saw Mista's figure. Smoke was rising from the barrel of his gun. Following the direction in which it was pointing, smoke could also be seen rising up from the point of impact. There were holes in the pavement – in front of this, the boy holding the turtle was standing. There were three holes; upon confirming this, the boy gave a calm smile.

"As I thought. You didn't fire four shots, did you?"

"Hmph. Don't look down on me. My obsession is a universal truth. And there's not a single guy who can change that. So – if there's a time when you give up being a member of Team Bucciarati, if you renounce being that 'fourth', then I'll be putting a bullet right in your brain, got it?"

Mista spun his pistol around in his hand and put it away. Carrying the turtle under his arm, Giorno slowly walked over and knelt down beside Bucciarati's body. Reaching out a hand, he gently stroked the pale face.

Giorno addressed the corpse in a sincere whisper.

"Bucciarati – when we first met, you saw through my lie. But there won't be any more lies. I swear on your soul. I will keep your wishes."

Mista was standing beside him. Right at that moment, in the middle of a troubled, dirty, crooked and archaic world, there was a brand-new glow: "Passione" was reborn.

Giorno lifted his head to look at Trish, who was vacantly watching the spectacle, and said,

"This is as far as you go, Trish Una."

Giorno turned around, with Mista next to him as the two of them got ready to walk out of the colosseum.

"W-Wait, Giorno. You can't be serious." Giorno didn't face Trish.

"Giorno, what the hell happened to you?" Trish cried, making her way towards Giorno.

"Don't ignore me, damnit!" She shouted, neither Giorno or Mista looking behind them.

"GIORNO, I-"

All around her, the world fell into darkness, leaving only two entities. Trish gasped, as Mista disappeared, leaving only her and Giorno. But he looked different. His suit was gone, replaced by a white robe. His blonde hair was somewhat longer, now flowing past his shoulders and down his back. Giorno looked back to Trish, and she could clearly see his now golden eyes glowing.

In a distorted voice that sounded much like Giorno, he made his own statement.

_"Please don't follow me. I don't want to lose you too."_ A somber tone, which deeply worried Trish.

And just like that, the world returned to it's regular state. Giorno and Mista were long gone. Trish crumbled to the floor, cupping her head in her hands, sobbing. She felt another presence embracing and comforting her. Trish didn't have to look up to know who it was. She sat alone, forgotten by her only 'friends'. She was left to figure out herself, and to figure out what she'd just seen.


	11. Back to Business

Trish sighed, having made her way to the more residential side of Roma. All around her, the damage of the last fight was still scattered throughout the city. Part of Trish wondered that if her mom never looked into finding out her father's identity, that none of this would ever have happened. Trish paused her current thoughts momentarily and thought back on her mom, and how her career was put on hold since she was bedridden. It had been two months since she'd been in any recording booth. Her mom, who acted as a manager for her as well, was the one to help her realize her dre- no, not that word. Trish cringed inwardly to herself. That word had been ruined for her by a _certain_ blonde who she thought was her friend. Then came the _other_ part. What exactly was that whole thing with the world completely disappearing for a few seconds? And why did _he_ look so different?

"Well fine. If you're gonna be like that, I guess I'll go fuck myself."

Trish's thoughts were broken by a man exiting some kind of office building. From Trish's perspective, he sounded American. He had shoulder length brown hair and blue eyes, with a beanie atop his head. Wearing a black sweatshirt, a black t-shirt and blue jeans, he seemed somewhat pissed. He was probably the most normally dressed person Trish'd seen in the last week. She saw that he had a guitar case. Was he some kind of homeless guy? Trish dismissed the thought. He looked too well kept to be homeless. Trish observed as the man plopped himself down on a bench, opening up the case, and retrieving the acoustic guitar from within. He tuned it for about a minute, unaware of the pinkette eyeing him down. After the minute passed, he shut the guitar case, and began to play a short tune to himself. Trish looked at the guy on the bench, and she could sense that he was like her.

Alone.

Trish made her way to the bench and sat down opposite the guy, just listening to the tune being played. She began to hum along with the beat, her mind drifting back to her mom, remembering all of the days they shared, and the times she would jump in singing when her mom played her guitar. After a few minutes, the guy noticed Trish's presence and stopped playing.

"Can I help you?" He asked, his voice bassy and smooth.

Trish was lulled out of her stupor and brought her attention back to the real world.

"O-Oh, don't mind me. I'm just listening." Trish replied.

The guy just shook his head and chuckled. He returned back to the tune a moment later, along with Trish's humming. After about a minute, she stopped and looked back towards the guy.

"You might want to play a full key down." Trish recommended.

The guy raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?" He questioned, confused.

"You're playing on B minor. You might want to go down to A minor. Just making a suggestion." Trish stated.

The guy did as Trish asked, and within moments, Trish's humming and the guitar were in sync, harmonizing beautifully.

Trish smirked to herself. "I knew going down to A minor would work." She triumphantly said.

The guy looked mildly bemused. "You sure do seem to know your stuff." He jested.

Trish rolled her eyes. "I know at least a bit." She sighed, thinking back on her mom.

"Hey, kid. You alright? You're makin' a face." The guy probed Trish.

Was she making a face? "It's nothing you need to worry about." She quickly said. A little to quickly for her liking.

The guy looked from his Trish to his guitar, and the back to Trish. "Hey, you seem like you know your way around music. Why don't we swing by my apartment? I've got a studio we could record in." He suggested.

Trish cocked an eyebrow. "You're just bringing this random girl from off the street to your 'studio'? Seems like the most backwards way of asking someone out if you ask me." She flatly joked.

The guy shook his head. "It's not like that. You're _way_ too young for me." He defended himself.

"Try me. I'm 15." Trish smirked.

"18. Still too young for me." The guy flatly stated.

Trish giggled. "Well, at least I can tell you're not a creep." She joked.

"Oh, that's good to know." The guy chuckled, opening up the case and sliding his guitar back inside, sealing it up a moment later.

"I wasn't kidding on the offer, by the way." The guy reiterated. Trish was still confused. Why was this guy still being somewhat nice to her? Trish pondered to herself for a moment, and sighed.

"Fuck it, why not? What's the worst that can happen?" Trish jested, standing up as her boots clacked to the ground.

"Lead the way, uh…" Trish trailed off, just realizing something.

"Oh shit, forgot to say my name, didn't I?" The guy queried.

"Eh, it happens." Trish shrugged.

"'It happens?' You're really gonna say 'it happens' when you're going off with a guy to his place without knowing his name?" The guy interrogated.

Trish sighed. "It's been a long week for me, alright? Not knowing a guys name is the least of my worries." She informed the guy, who just sighed in the process.

"Fine. The name's Joseph, but my friends call me Joe. Use whichever you want." The guy explained.

"Trish. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Joe." Trish extended her hand, and Joe returned the gesture.

"Well, lets get a move on. We're burning daylight here." Joe called, lugging the case over his shoulder and heading towards his apartment with Trish right behind him.

* * *

After a few minutes of walking, they made it to the building. A modestly sized three story building. Mista would approve. The duo quickly entered and made their way up the stairs up to the second floor. Walking down the hall to apartment 2B, Joe unlocked the door and they entered the apartment within. Trish was mildly impressed with the apartment. The living room was quite large, along with the sizable kitchen and dining area. The walls were painted a deep shade of blue, with dark hardwood floors. There were five doors, presumably leading to the other rooms. She guessed one was a bathroom. Another was probably a bedroom, and maybe a guest room as well. Then there might be a closet somewhere else. Trish glanced over to Joe, entering the door directly to his right, leading into what looked like a recording booth. She chuckled to herself.

"I guess you weren't lying about the in-apartment recording booth." Trish jested.

"What reason would I have to lie to a stranger? That makes zero sense, wouldn't you say?" Joe questioned, laying the case down gently behind him.

"So does bringing that stranger into your own home after knowing about her existence for less than fifteen minutes." Trish shot back, entering the studio.

"Touché." Joe replied, watching as Trish shut the door behind her, leaving the two of them closed off from the rest of the world.

"You got any lyrics or do you want a sample?" Joe offered.

Trish shook her head. "Just pick a beat, and I'll think of something on the fly." She quipped, as Joe nodded his head.

If he was going to try anything, she'd launch Spice Girl on him in an instant. For now, she trusted her better judgement on the fact that this guy didn't seem too harmful. But she was still on edge.

"Alright, so." Joe began, clapping his hands together "Go in there and get ready. If you need anything, let me know."

Trish nodded, opening the door to the recording booth and entered, as she shut the door behind her. She observed the room around her. Completely covered in soundproofing, a couple of lights, and a microphone with a stool. All in all, it seemed pretty professional. Well, save for the giant painting on the outside in the actual studio bit. Trish moved the stool off to the side and stood in front of the mic. She watched as Joe slipped on headphones and fiddled with the controls.

"Alright, now lets check the feedback." Joe suggested through the mic as Trish nodded.

"Check, 1, 2, 3." Trish called, as Joe played it back.

"Audio quality's good. Now slip on the headphones, and adjust the volume to how you want it." Joe recommended, and Trish did just that.

"Now the music'll be playing in a moment. Wait for my que to jump in. It'll be after the 15 second mark." He added, with a nod from Trish.

After a few seconds of waiting, the music faded in, and Trish got a feel for the beat. A heavy emphasis on the electric guitar with some fading in and out. After the first 15 seconds, Joe gave the thumbs up. Trish nodded and began.

_In this solemn field of silence_

_I can barely feel the pain_

_Blind and deaf to all the violence_

_And I've always felt this way_

On a whim, Trish summoned Spice Girl, not even looking towards Joe. With Spice at her side, she used her as backing vocals.

**_La, 'la, 'la, 'la_ **

_On the wind a smell of misery_

_Fear and death perfume the air_

_It begins again in mystery_

_And I always end up there_

_Always **unsuspecting**_

**_So easy to lure them away from_ **

**_All the angels within_ **

**_I am running, from something I'm becoming_ **

**_Unstoppable_ **

**_And I'm coming from the something that I'm running from_ **

**_Becoming one_ **

**_Always Running_ **

**_Like something might be coming_ **

**_To follow me_ **

**_And I'm running from the something that I'm coming from_ **

**_Becoming one_ **

**_I am_ **

**_Letting go of all I know_ **

_From this buried well of consciousness_

**La'**

_I can barely hear the rain_

**La'**

_Everyone becomes anonymous_

**La'**

_All their faces seem the same_

**La'**

_Always **unrelenting**_

**_Descending into our own nightmare_ **

**_From this twisted fantasy_ **

_Falling **far away from**_

**_The beauty of annihilation_ **

**_Do the faceless face fear_ **

**_I am running, from something I'm becoming_ **

**_Unstoppable_ **

**_And I'm coming from the something that I'm running from_ **

**_Becoming one_ **

**_Always Running_ **

**_Like something might be coming_ **

**_To follow me_ **

**_And I'm running from the something that I'm coming from_ **

_Becoming one_

**_I've become_ **

**-come**

**_Something they all run from_ **

**-from**

**_I want you to be gone_ **

**-gone**

**_But I know you've just begun_ **

**-gun**

**_Why am I numb_ **

**_To everything I have done_ **

**-done**

**_There's no going back for me_ **

**_Becoming has taken its toll_ ** _on me_

Trish didn't realize it in the moment, but tears stained her face. She didn't care. No one should care.

_I am running, from something I'm becoming_

_Unstoppable_

_And I'm coming from the something that I'm running from_

_Becoming one_

**_Always Running_ **

**_Like something might be coming_ **

**_To follow me_ **

**_And I'm running from the something that I'm coming from_ **

**_Becoming one_ **

**_I am running, from something I'm becoming_ **

**_Unstoppable_ **

**_And I'm coming from the something that I'm running from_ **

**_Becoming one_ **

**_Always Running_ **

**_Like something might be coming_ **

**_To follow me_ **

**_And I'm running from the something that I'm coming from_ **

**_Becoming one_ **

**_I am running from the other ones_ **

**_And the other ones_ **

**_I'm running from_ **

**_And becoming one means I'm running from_ **

_All I am_

Trish inhaled deeply, letting out a deep sigh once she was done. She opened her eyes to reveal a bewildered Joe. He blinked once, twice, and turned off the recording. Joe slid off the headphones and slinked his way into the booth, leaving the door behind him open.

"I don't know any other way of asking this, but are you alright?" Joe questioned, rubbing the back of his head.

Trish huffed. "Why are you bothering to do this for me? I don't need your pity." She scowled.

Joe simply cocked an eyebrow. "You really think I'm doing this out of pity?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

Trish looked right into Joe's eyes. "Yes…" she shook her head "no…" and threw her hands up in frustration "I don't know…".

Joe sighed and gestured to the door. "C'mon. You look like you've got a _lot_ on your mind, Trish." He stated.

Trish chuckled lithly. "You can say that again." She mumbled, heading out of the studio and back into the living room.

Trish plopped herself down on the couch and groaned. Why was this happening to her? Why was she in this guys apartment? Why did she agree to this? And now he was going to ask about the layered audio, and once more Trish let out a defeated groan.

"You want anything to drink?" She heard Joe call from the kitchen.

"We've got coke, regular water, sparkling water, whi-"

"Sparkling water, please." Trish called into the couch cushion. She heard Joe's chuckle as he made his way back to the living room.

Trish glanced up to see two bottles of Perrier in one of Joe's hands, and a glass of lemonade in the other. He passed her one of the Perrier bottles, and set the other on the coffee table. Joe took a seat on the chair parallel to Trish and placed his glass on the coffee table. Joe watched with bemusement as Trish uncapped the Perrier and guzzled down half of it in one swig.

"So, what's on your mind?" Joe questioned.

"What isn't?" Trish shot back, rubbing her temples with her newly found vigor.

"Let's start with something small. What's happened to you this past week?" Joe asked, setting a box of tissues from the end table onto the coffee table and towards Trish.

Trish sighed, and wiped her eyes. "No, let's start from the beginning. It started when my mom met a mafia boss."

* * *

Trish spent the next couple hours spilling her heart out to the young man in the chair across from her. She went into as much detail as she could without sounding like a deranged lunatic. Trish looked back every few minutes to look gauge Joe's expression, but that was becoming increasingly difficult. Then came the whole explanation of Stands. And that was another can of worms. But with what had happened in Roma during last night, it might have been more believable.

"So, yeah. That's basically it. The last two people whom I'd consider friends left me at the Colosseum earlier this morning." Trish sighed, glancing over to the floor. There were about ten empty Perrier bottles scattered on the floor.

"Interesting. And you're telling me that there are invisible people that are named after bands or songs that can do different things?" Joe questioned.

"I had a feeling you'd call me out on that." Trish groaned.

"Hey, be thankful I'm not calling you out on being the daughter of a mafioso." Joe shot back, earning a louder groan from Trish.

"Look, you're not going to see them. Only other users can see Stands." Trish explained as best she could.

Joe leaned forward in his chair. "Try me." He grinned.

Trish sat up, and in a single motion, summoned Spice Girl to her side. Joe wasn't even looking in Spice's direction.

"So have you used your invisible person yet?" Joe questioned, a new naïveté in his voice.

Trish rolled her eyes and allowed Spice Girl to grab one of the empty bottles from the floor. Spice Girl used her softening ability, and now the glass bottle had become an uninflated balloon.

Joe chuckled. "So what? Your Stand can soften things, big whoop." He chuckled, focusing his gaze directly into Spice Girl's eyes.

Trish glared back at him. "I'll have you know that Spice Girl's physical powers aren't to sneeze as. So why don't you go and-"

"Hold on a sec, Trish. He's staring right at me." Spice Girl broke Trish's train of thought and brought her on a new one.

"Ah, she's sentient too. Cool." Joe said, looking back to Trish.

"Wait. No, don't tell me." Trish groaned.

"Yep. I'm a stand user too." Joe grinned, a dark blue aura surrounding the young man.

From his body, a tall being spawned forth. The being was built like a gorilla. The stand had blue skin, with longish black hair, with the hair kept up in a bandana. It's outfit looked like that of a MACV-SOG soldier crossed with a knight's armor. In it's hands was an M4a1 with some customizations. A silencer, with an under-barrel M203 grenade launcher, an ACOG scope mounted atop, and a laser sight to round out the SOPMOD. It opened it's eyes, glancing down to look towards Trish and Spice Girl.

"Well, hello ladies." The stand chuckled, in his own deep voice.

"Hey Fortunate, what did we say?" Joe chided.

The stand sighed. "I know, I know." He mumbled.

"Trish, this is my stand, Fortunate Son." Joe gestured towards the stand.

Trish blinked in surprise. She seemed to have a habit of running into other stand users.

"So, I'm guessing his main ability is to use a gun, big whoop." Trish jested.

Joe smirked. "I'll have you know that Fortunate Son's CQC capabilities are unmatchable. He's nothing short of a one-man army." He boasted, quite prideful of his stand's capabilities.

Trish looked from Joe, to Fortunate Son, then to Spice Girl. Then her gaze turned downward.

"Trish, you alright?" Joe asked, as Fortunate Son flickered out of existence.

"I- I just want to know why? Why are you doing this for me?" Trish sighed, slumping even deeper into the couch.

Joe sighed and stood up. He strode over to the couch and sat down next to Trish. "I'm doing this because everyone needs someone to help them. Consider me someone to rely on. Alright?" Joe explained, patting Trish on the shoulder.

Trish simply nodded and that was all that Joe needed.

"So, it's getting dark out, and you probably need to get back home." Joe said.

Trish let out a dry laugh. "Home, yeah." She sighed.

Joe smacked the side of his head. "Shit. My bad." He grumbled.

"Look, just take the guest room. Crash here for however long you need to. We'll get you some new clothes tomorrow." Joe explained.

Trish just looked Joe in the eyes and began to break down. She sobbed to herself, as Joe and Spice Girl did their best to comfort the teen. After about a half hour, her sobs were nothing more than a few sniffles. Trish made her way to the guest bedroom, with her hand on the knob. She paused, and glanced back to Joe, who was now picking up the discarded Perrier bottles off the floor with the help of his stand.

"One more question, if you don't mind." Trish stated.

"Shoot. What'ya got?" Joe asked, tossing the bottles into the bin in the kitchen.

"You know how I mentioned my mom acted as my manager as well?" Trish questioned, with Joe nodding in response.

"Well, I think I need to get back in the spotlight, and I need some help with that. Would you mind being my manager?" She offered to the young man.

Joe chuckled. "Well, there probably are better people and better ways of asking." He jested, earning a pout out of Trish.

Joe looked back up at Trish with a new flare in his eyes. "It's a deal, then." He beamed.

Trish took her hand off the knob and made her way back into the living room.

Joe raised an eyebrow. "I though you were going to bed." He mentioned.

"Yeah, yeah. Let a fifteen-year-old sleep on her own terms. It's not like I've got school to worry about." Trish sighed.

Joe simply shook his head, making his way over to the couch, sitting down next to Trish. "Well, you might want to at least finish high school. I'm not sure what it's like over here, but I finished before moving out here."

"C'mon, I want to live my life the way I want. I don't want to be living for someone else's nefarious deeds." Trish jested, looking towards the television and noticing an oddly shaped remote.

"Hey, what's over there?" Trish questioned, pointing towards the remote.

Joe smirked. "That, my friend, is a video game controller." He chattered.

"Oh, I don't really play, but I'm down to learn." Trish said, walking over to the console and picking up the controller. The controller was in the shape of an 'M', with a joy-stick in the middle, a d-pad to the left, and a myriad of buttons on the right.

"That's fine." Joe spoke, taking his own controller and popping a game into the top of the system.

"Tell me, Trish. Have you any interest in fighting games?" Joe questioned.

"Whatever you suggest, I'm fine with." Trish added, watching the opening cinematic of the game.

After the title drop, Joe quickly made his way to the character select screen, showing off twelve different characters.

Trish moved the joy-stick over to the pink sphere, with the announcer calling out 'Kirby' once she selected him.

"Yes, I know who I picked. Thank you for reminding me, game."

Joe chuckled, moving over to the yellow mouse, the announcer calling 'Pikachu' out once again.

"Now, ready to lose?" Joe chuckled, picking the stage titled 'Dream Land'.

Trish saw her opportunity and took it. "In your dreams." She snickered, as Joe looked mildly offended by her comment.

"Oh, you're done now." Joe laughed, ready to demolish this sassy child.

The night drew on, one match became two, two became five, and soon it was deep into the night. And Trish couldn't be any happier. She almost forgot about _him_. Key word: _almost_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trish, why did you go into a strangers house? Don't do that. It's kinda weird.) Oh shit, an OC. Who's the OC? Well, it's me. Of course I'm going to insert myself into the story. Obviously I wasn't eighteen in 2001. As a matter of fact, I don't think I could even speak full sentences in 2001. Either way, this is Joe [Unknown Last Name Because I Don't Want To Reveal Too Much Personal Information]. And he's a stand user, too. So now we have my first original stand, aside from S.G.R. Meet Fortunate Son. Think of Frank Woods meets a templar knight, and you've got Fortunate Son.
> 
> Fortunate Son
> 
> Ability: Incredible strength up close and at range with his rifle
> 
> Strength: B
> 
> Speed: A
> 
> Range: B
> 
> Durability: B
> 
> Precision: A
> 
> Dev. Power: A
> 
> I know it's a bit high in power, but Star Platinum has A in every stat except for range, so cut a guy some slack. With that being said, we have one chapter left. I wonder how this'll go.


	12. Epilogue

Trish would have considered that _blonde_ her friend after five days of knowing him. And thankfully, after five months living as a roommate with Joe, the two of them had become the best of friends. On the surface, their relationship was strictly business. He was her manager, and nothing more. But behind the scenes, the two of them acted like they had known each other for years. In the time they’d lived together, she learned quite a bit about her new manager. Joe lived back in New York up until he turned 18. After that, he moved to Italy to pursue a music career. Why Italy, you may ask? It was at the suggestion of his parents, who graciously paid for the expenses. And now that his career was now on track thanks to a certain pinkette, life was looking good for Joe.

Now in mid-September, Trish stood in the recording booth, singing her heart out. Unlike the first time she stepped into the booth, Trish didn’t feel the need to launch Spice Girl at the then-stranger-now-friend. In the main studio, both Joe and Fortunate Son were bopping their heads to the beat, and adjusting the audio as needed. Back in the booth, Trish and Spice Girl were doing their routine of layering the audio right then and there. One thing Joe had wanted to try was screamo at certain points of the song, and Spice Girl was all for it.

_I can see them everywhere_

**EVERYWHERE**

_I can see them everywhere I go_

_I can see them everywhere_

_They're all around me_

_They're waiting for me_

_I can see them everywhere_

**Everywhere, so beautiful**

_I can see them everywhere I go_

_I can see them everywhere_

_They're **all around me**_

**_They're waiting for me_ **

_Descending_

**_Un-relenting_ **

**_Beauty of annihilation_ **

**_Looks like your prophet was mistaken_ **

_Is life really gone or just been wasted?_

**_Doom so close that I can taste it_ **

After a few seconds, Trish pulled off the headphones, and took in a deep breath, Spice Girl mirroring her actions. From the other side, she heard both Joe’s and Fortunate Son’s claps.

“Absolutely beautiful, you two.” Joe commended, a grin on his face.

“Y’know, it’s no wonder the two of ya are over there, and we’re over here. Joe’d never be able to hit those notes.” Fortunate jested, nudging Joe in the shoulder.

“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Joe sighed, elbowing Fortunate Son back, realizing his mistake soon after. He felt the same force on his ribs and clutched his side, with a chorus of giggles coming from the recording booth.

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I’m an idiot. What of it?” Joe groaned, sitting himself back up.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think I need a drink. Something with caffeine’ll do the trick.” Spice Girl commented, setting the headphones over the microphone.

Joe chuckled. “I hear you, Spice. Want your usual, Trish?” He asked.

Trish nodded. “Black, two sugars.” She spoke into the mic.

“Light cream and three for me.” Spice Girl called, before she returned to Trish.

“Right then. I’ll be right back.” Joe called, with Fortunate Son following him out.

Trish sat alone with her thoughts. This was her routine every time he left the studio. Trish didn’t know when it exactly started, but she still harped back on it nearly every time. It always came back to _him_. It had taken her some time to come to terms with her feelings towards that _blonde_ , and she’d realized what she truly felt when she was with him. A sense of purpose, and an equal. At least, before _that_ day. Trish sighed, deciding to lay down onto the carpeted floors of the booth and shut her eyes. It felt as if _he_ was always there with her. Ever since that day, Trish hadn’t seen him, yet his presence was still instilled in her very soul. She just sighed yet again, feeling unable to get up.

**_‘Sooooo, you want to talk about this, or are you just gonna mope in here?’_** She heard Spice’s voice ring out in her head.

_‘Why bother? It’s not like_ he’s _leaving my mind any time soon.’_ Trish thought, biting her cheek.

**_‘Look, I’m always available at a moment’s notice. If you need someone to vent to, I’ll be there for you. And, maybe not as fast as yours truly, so’s Joe.’_** And with that, Spice Girl fell into the recesses of Trish’s mind.

She just stared up into the ceiling, idly wondering what she could even do. Why does she even bother with thinking about _him_? And-

***BANG***

What the _hell_ was that? Trish stood up, finally curious as to what was going on. She looked outside the booth, seeing that the painting was now leaning against the wall, as opposed to hanging from it. Out from behind the painting stepped an older man with long blonde hair that ended in curls, and a pink coat with purple trousers. She faintly saw _him_ in the man. But the more pressing matter remained. How did this man get into here, and more importantly, what was his stand? Because, the last time Trish checked, not any average person is going to just appear out from behind a painting. Unless it was that one game Joe played. The unknown man observed the room before him, somehow not noticing the giant glass panel to his right. The long-haired blonde set the painting around so that the front was facing the wall. And on said painting was some kind of a shimmering blue portal.

“Alright, you lot can come on through.” The man called, in an old timey American accent.

Trish watched with bemusement as two people stepped through. One had a black mop of hair atop his head, and even blacker eyes. He was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. To his right, a _very_ short girl with _very_ long orange hair, with big glasses that took up about 25% of her face. She wore a white tank top with a green jacket over top, and a pair of baggy sweatpants. If Trish had to guess, they were both Japanese.

“He’s not lying.” Frizzy Hair called into the portal in very clear English. Why he was using English, Trish wasn’t sure.

The short girl looked around, mildly worried. “We’re in someone else’s home. A-Aren’t we gonna get into serious trouble?” She asked, looking at her surroundings, but still somehow missing the giant window.

“Only if we get caught, Taba.” Frizzy Hair replied, patting the top of her hair.

“You say that now, but…” She trailed off, watching the portal.

And one at a time, more people filed out of the portal.

“Aw, C’mon. It’ll be fine, Futaba.” A blonde boy called.

Trish was certain she heard a cat just then.

“Well, I hope we’ll be fine. I mean, look at who we have with us. It’ll be a 50/50 shot.” A blonde girl added.

“You know I can hear you, right?” A brunette sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Yes, we know.” A lanky bluenette muttered.

“And to be blunt, we really don’t care.” A strawberry blonde softly stated.

“This is just what happens when you kill people, Akechi-senpai.” A red-headed girl gingerly replied.

“Why did we agree to let him stay if we’re just going to bully him?” Another brunette questioned, looking back into the portal.

“He’s the one guy we can make fun of without feeling bad, Makoto. That’s just how it is.” Joe added, chuckling to himse-

Wait, Joe? Trish felt her brain short circuit. What was he doing there? Didn’t he just leave for coffee? And who were all of these other people? Trish could barely register the fact that there were about a dozen people in the studio, seemingly out of thin air. That’s when she heard the door from the outside of the studio open. Everyone, including Trish, who had made her way towards the window, unseen by literally everyone, watched as Joe entered the booth.

“Hey Trish, I left the coffee in the living ro-” Joe paused, his eyes going wide, as did the other Joe’s eyes and the teens.

“Interesting.” The blonde man observed. “Usually, when two of the same people were brought into close proximity with each other, they’d stick like magnets and explode. I suppose that’s just D4C Requiem’s power.”

“And you almost killed our friend without even knowing?” Frizzy Hair uttered, his voice going an octave higher.

“Hey, I would have at least attempted to save him…” The blonde man trailed off. “Probably.”

Both Joes stared at each other for a few moments, both taking in a deep breath.

**“WHAT THE FU-”**

**“WHAT THE FU-”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this, a crossover episode? And a cliffhanger? Oh ilventoaureo, you have let yourself go man. Well, this brings us to the end of GioGio Part 1. Eventually, we'll be seeing these characters again. But not for a while. Not until I get more time to write. But until then, be well and have a good one. And as always, reviews are appreciated.
> 
> Cheers
> 
> -ilventoaureo


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